


Weaver and Jinx

by JMHthe3rd



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Original Character(s), Superheroes, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMHthe3rd/pseuds/JMHthe3rd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor gets a sidekick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

>   
>  **Chapter One**  
> 
> 
> I had a stalker.
> 
> I first saw her a week ago. I'd been at my locker, looking over my shoulder for the usual trouble, when I caught her watching me from down the crowded hallway. She was tiny, not even five feet tall, and had milk chocolate skin, short, thick dreadlocks and a round, little face that made her look too young for high school. She wore horn-rim glasses over her sad puppy-dog eyes.
> 
> She didn't approach me. She didn't say anything. She just stared, looking away when I made eye contact. At first I thought this was a prelude to more of the trio's shit, but it didn't even take a second glance to tell this girl wouldn't fit in with that clique.
> 
> She wasn't quite dressed like a homeless person, but if the popular girls were to make fun of her, that's where they'd start. Her green army jacket was about two sizes too big and wrinkled enough that it looked like she stashed it at home between sofa cushions. Her black cargo pants were torn and worn, but in a way that spoke of poverty, not style. I guessed she was a new transfer, and that she saw in me a fellow outcast. Soon enough, others would warn her to keep her distance. Making friends with me was hazardous to one's social standing.
> 
> By the time I left for class, she was finally walking away, limping slightly as she favored her left leg.
> 
> I saw her at least once a day after that. She never said anything to me or anyone else for that matter. We didn't share classes, so I wasn't even sure what grade she was in. Sometimes I'd see her at the school entrance, sometimes by the bus stop. Whenever I saw her, she was looking at me.
> 
> Yesterday morning, in the hall, Sophia and Emma were being their usual bitchy selves.
> 
> "Holy shit! That zit is nasty!" said Sophia loudly enough for others to turn my way. She shoved me in the shoulder, forcing me look at her. "Don't you wash your face?" she asked.
> 
> "It looks like herpes," Emma explained, speaking as though I wasn't there. "She probably got it from all that shit in her locker. Isn't that sad? She's never even kissed a boy and she's already damaged goods."
> 
> I sighed and leaned against the wall, waiting for them to leave. By a classroom door I spotted the strange girl. She was glaring at us, which I guessed meant she wasn't a fan of bullies. I did my part by not looking at her directly: the last thing she wanted was to get in the trio's sights.
> 
> After they left, I glanced at her. She had her head down as Emma and Sophia passed by, but it was obvious she was still staring at them.
> 
> "What the fuck are you looking at?" Sophia demanded and then pretended to lunge at the girl, making her flinch and drop her backpack. Sophia and Emma went on their way laughing.
> 
> I had to do something. I walked over. I was so much taller that I had to look down to talk to her.
> 
> "You should keep away from me," I said. "You don't want to deal with this shit."
> 
> She avoided my eyes, staring instead into the space beside me.
> 
> "I've . . . I've heard about . . ." She trailed off and began again. "Why do you put up with it? Why don't you stop them?"
> 
> I had to laugh. "Stop them? How? The school always sides with them over me. I can't win."
> 
> She met my eyes for just a moment and looked away. "That's bullshit," she muttered.
> 
> "No shit." I picked up her backpack, stuffed the textbooks and notebooks back in and held it out to her. "What's your name?" I asked.
> 
> "Maribel."
> 
> "Maribel, just stay away from me, okay?" I said. "It's for your own good."
> 
> Reluctantly, she gripped the backpack with her left hand and then, after a moment's hesitation, reached up with her right. The sleeve of her army coat was long enough that at first I didn't realize there  _was_ no right hand, just a prosthetic hook. She used it to zip the bag close.
> 
> I'm embarrassed to admit I stared. Maribel gave me a sad look and limped away.
> 
> That soured what turned out to be an already crappy day. It would have been nice to have a friend, or just someone to talk to about stuff. The bitches would never allow it, though. I reassured myself that I did the right thing. A handicapped, possibly autistic girl was going to get picked on enough as it was. There was no need to get splashed from the buckets of shit being dumped on me.
> 
> And I had to look at the bigger picture. I was going to be a hero. None of this mattered.
> 
> That had been yesterday. Now, I was sitting in a bathroom stall eating my brown bag lunch. The room had been empty when I locked myself in, but Maribel must have trailed me and waited outside until the others left. I could tell it was her by her slight limp. I'd been keeping my feet up so she couldn't spot me below the partitions, but her worn black shoes stopped right outside my stall door.
> 
> "I know you're in there," she said. "I . . . I need talk to you."
> 
> Anything I said would only encourage her, so I remained silent.
> 
> "T . . . Taylor. I  _know._ I know about  _. . ._ You know what I'm talking about."
> 
> Oh, shit.
> 
> I felt a coldness in my guts. How could she know? I never controlled my bugs when others could see. I told myself not to panic. She may have been talking about the locker or something, though  _everyone_ in Winslow knew about that.
> 
> Just then, the bathroom door banged opened. I could make out giggling.
> 
> "Hey, it's that weird girl," I heard Madison say.
> 
> Another girl laughed. "Three guesses where Hebert is." That was Sophia.
> 
> Fuck me.
> 
> "No . . . wait, she's . . . she's not here," Maribel tried.
> 
> "Why are you following her around?" I heard Emma ask. "Don't you know she's a loser? Are you a loser too?"
> 
> They stepped closer. Maribel's shoes backed out of view from under the partition.
> 
> "Of course she's a loser," Sophia said. "Look at that little hook. And her gimpy leg. She's weak. Pathetic."
> 
> "Worst. Pirate.  _Ever,"_ said Madison.
> 
> I saw Sophia's sneakers rush by. I heard Maribel hit the floor and cry out.
> 
> "Leave her alone!" I said. I dropped the last bite of my pita wrap to the floor and rushed to pop the lock on the door. I pushed. It wouldn't budge.
> 
> "Sophia! That's so mean!" Emma said with mock concern. She was just outside the door and must have been holding it shut.
> 
> "Hey, you saw it," said Sophia. "She tripped. It's not my fault she's a cripple."
> 
> I pushed against the door again. I kicked it. It opened about an inch and slammed shut.
> 
> "Jesus, wait your turn, Taylor," Emma said. "We haven't forgotten about you."
> 
> "Stay away from me!" Maribel cried, her voice trembling. "I'll tell the principal!"
> 
> The trio laughed.
> 
> "Blackwell doesn't listen to losers," said Emma. "Isn't that right, Taylor? Hold her down."
> 
> I heard the twist and fizz of bottles being opened, followed by the gurgle of poured liquid. Maribel began to whimper.
> 
> "Oh, my God! She's crying!" Madison said with glee.
> 
> "Let's steal her hook!" Emma suggested.
> 
> I braced my feet against the base of the toilet and used my shoulder as a battering ram. I pushed, straining my legs. Blood roared in my ears. It hurt, but the door gave way and I barged through, barely stopping myself from spilling onto the floor. Emma had stumbled backwards into the wall. I snarled at her, and for a moment she looked afraid.
> 
> This was very dramatic, very empowering, but Madison was already facing me, a big orange soda bottle in her hands. She squeezed and splashed the drink in my eyes. My glasses took the brunt of it, but it still burned.
> 
> "Fuck!" I screamed and threw a fist blindly. I think I may have knocked Madison in the side of the head, but the three were already running towards the washroom door, laughing. A tossed bottle smacked me in the face. By the time I wiped my eyes, it was just me and Maribel.
> 
> Her dreadlocks were dripping wet. Her green army coat was soaked dark purple and orange. One of them had unzipped her backpack, and peering inside I saw at least half a bottle of what smelled like cranberry juice had been dumped all over her books. Maribel was trembling, her left hand rubbing her right knee. Her eyes were red from tears.
> 
> This was too much. The buzzing at the edge of my consciousness threatened to swarm the bathroom with thousands of bugs, and I had clench my fist and take a deep breath in order to calm them down. Finally, I held out my hand to Maribel and gently pulled her to her feet. She stumbled at first, but I kept an arm around her back until it looked like she could stand on her own.
> 
> "Are you all right?" I asked. When she didn't say anything, but only glared at the bathroom door, I added, "I'm sorry. You probably should--"
> 
> "I used to think she was cool," Maribel said.
> 
> That threw me off. "Wait, what? Who?"
> 
> "Shadow Stalker," Maribel said. She sniffed and wiped at her nose. "Sophia. She's Shadow Stalker."
> 
> "Really?" I said flatly, not quite hiding the doubt in my voice. Well, whether Maribel was delusional or not, she didn't deserve what had happened to her. I went to the counter and rolled out two fistfuls of paper towels. I handed one to her. The other I used to wipe my face and glasses.
> 
> Maribel shrugged as she wiped her glasses. She then padded at her hair.
> 
> "Probably," she said. "She has Shadow Stalker's powers, anyway."
> 
> I felt an unease. With the trio's surprise juice attack, I'd nearly forgotten what Maribel had said about  _knowing_ something.
> 
> "How do you know this?" I asked.
> 
> "I can sense powers. Even with my eyes closed." Grinning slightly, she leaned towards me and whispered, "It's the same way I know you can control bugs."
> 
> So there it was. That cold dread in my guts returned, though I don't think I could say I was actually afraid.
> 
> "Ah," I said lamely, my mind reeling from the revelation. Sophia was Shadow Stalker. Former vigilante turned Ward. That explained . . . everything. Fuck you, Winslow. Fuck you, PRT.
> 
> "That's not all I can do," she said. "Reach out to your bugs. As far as you can."
> 
> I didn't really have to. I didn't have to consciously think about them, they were just there in my mind, waiting. But I focused on them, controlling and sensing through every one of the millions of bugs in the school and the surrounding area . . .
> 
> The bugs farthest away vanished first, followed by the ones next farthest, and then the wall of darkness drew in closer and closer. My power's two and a half block range was suddenly and quickly shrinking. After a few seconds, I controlled nothing except my own body. It was like a light had gone out of my head.
> 
> I automatically stepped away from her. Was this permanent? I was scared to ask. "Wh--what did you . . .  _?_ "
> 
> She seemed to be barely paying attention as she wiped at her stained coat. "Don't worry. I can bring it back. I can also do  _this._ "
> 
> And then the bugs were back. And then there were  _more_  bugs. And  _more._ I don't know how much her power magnified my range, but it was too much. I grabbed my head. I may have cried out, and I ambled forward and fell against the sink counter top. It wasn't as bad as the sensory overload in the locker, but it still hurt my poor brain.
> 
> The range dialed back to maybe a little above normal. I became aware that Maribel was hugging me around the waist.
> 
> "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" She was on the verge of crying again. "I just wanted to show off. I was stupid. I should have warned you. Are you all right? Please say you're all right!"
> 
> "I'm all right," I said. I pushed myself up from the counter. I had a splitting headache, but it was fading fast. "So . . . you're a trump?" I asked.
> 
> She pulled away, her hook snagging on my brown hooded sweatshirt, and nodded. "Yeah, and I was sort of wondering if . . . well, if we could be friends."
> 
>  


	2. Chapter Two

  
**Chapter Two**  


"They knew," I said, mostly to myself.  
  
We were in an alley behind the school. We'd decided to skip since after everything that happened in the bathroom it's not like either of us would be paying attention anyway. Maribel was still shaken, and for me the fact that Sophia was Shadow Stalker was still sinking in. We just needed time to vent.  
  
"They knew who she was," I continued. "They knew what she was doing. And they covered it up."  
  
"The school probably gets money for having a Ward enrolled," Maribel replied animatedly. She was pacing in a circle, angrily waving her hand and hook as she spoke. "And for the PRT, Shadow Stalker is good PR. An antihero-turned-hero success story. If it got out she's a psychopath, they'll look bad."  
  
"So they make sure it doesn't get out," I said. I was beginning to feel sick. I hadn't wanted to join the Wards, but I'd respected them. Not anymore, though.  
  
The juice had left Maribel's hair looking like black sticky seaweed. She peeled a dread from her cheek and said, "Or they keep their eyes closed. Make sure they don't see anything they don't want to see. That's how those bitches can get away with shit like shoving you in that locker." She hesitated, as if she were about to say something but changed her mind. Finally, she asked, "Why didn't you use your powers on them? If I were you, I'd give them brown recluse makeovers."  
  
I shook my head. "That's going too far. And it'd be too obvious. It wouldn't be hard to figure out who was behind it."  
  
"Okay, okay. How about something that looks more natural and isn't permanent, like give them lice or crabs or something?"  
  
"Then they'd just be miserable, and they'd take it out on me." I sighed. "But no, the real reason is I don't trust myself not to keep escalating things. I want to be better than them, not sink to their level."  
  
Though she seemed to have grown more comfortable around me over the last few minutes, I noticed she still had an odd aversion to eye contact, preferring to talk while giving me quick glances and looking away. Not now, though. She stared up at me with stark frustration. She'd experienced a taste of the shit I'd gone through over the last year and a half, and the injustice of them continuing to get away with it was galling.  
  
"But now that you know Sophia's Shadow Stalker . . . ?" she prompted hopefully.  
  
"I don't know," I answered. And I didn't want to talk about it now. Besides, this alleyway wasn't as private as I would have liked.  
  
"You want to come to my house?" I asked. "I want to show you something."  
  
"Sure," she said, her face lighting with a grin. She probably guessed what it was.  
  
As we left the campus, she said, "You know, I have a Shadow Stalker action figure. As soon as I get home, it's going in the microwave."  
  
That made me laugh, and she giggled, adding, "And if we ever see Shadow Stalker fighting the ABB or E-Eighty-Eight or whatever, I can't promise I won't _nope_  her. Then we can watch her get her ass kicked."  
  
I gave that a chuckle too, though I hoped she was only joking. As much as I hated Sophia, I didn't want her seriously injured or killed. In a perfect world, she'd be sent to juvenile detention, but the chances of that seemed more remote than ever.  
  
We took the first bus that headed in the general direction of home. I couldn't help but notice the stares that came her way from the other passengers. The paper towels hadn't been enough to wipe all the mess from her hair and coat--not to mention the ruined contents of her backpack. I felt guilty, and I guess I wanted to make it up to her. After all, what the trio did had originally been intended for me. At least I could keep the flies off her.  
  
We didn't speak much on the ride over, mostly because we couldn't talk about what we wanted while others were in earshot. But even after the bus stopped a block from my house and we got off, Maribel didn't start any small talk. Her anticipation, her eagerness, was palpable, and I could guess this was as big a deal for her as if was for me.  
  
I can't remember where I heard this, but someone once said you should take a negative and turn it into a positive. That wasn't too hard to do with today's events: the bitches did their usual bitchy things, but now I had a friend. And she was a trump.  
  
I could already see there would be issues, however. I had to slow my pace a couple of times while we were on the sidewalk, to allow her catch up. As a hero, I expected to do a lot of running, and even without her limp, she had short legs. But I figured we could work around this. Her power was too useful to not bring along.  
  
We went around and entered through the backdoor. As we passed the kitchen, Maribel said, "You have a nice house."  
  
"Thanks," I said. Was it? I guess that depended on your frame of reference. "But I don't think you'll say that when you see the basement," I added with a smile.  
  
I opened the door and we went down the steps. Here, the walls and floor were concrete, and the ceiling was exposed boards and electrical cords. At the old coal chute I removed a screw and tugged away the square wooden panel with peeling white paint. I pulled out the hidden gym bag and showed her what was inside.  
  
She knelt with her right leg propped stiffly to the side and ran her fingers over the smooth fabric.  
  
"Where did you get this?" she asked quietly.  
  
"I made it. Well, my black widows did. I've tested it: it's flexible, lightweight and really durable. The armor is scavenged insect exoskeletons."  
  
In the basement's dull light, her dark eyes gleamed with an excitement that I found contagious.  
  
"Spider silk and bug bits!" she cried. "That is so awesome! Are you going to be a hero or villain? I'm guessing hero. That's cool. Can I come along? I mean . . . do you want a partner? I know I'm not fast and I won't be much good in a fight, but . . ."  
  
"Fuck, yes, I want you on my team," I said, laughing. "You can amp my range and no-sell any cape we come across. With a power like that, you don't need to be throwing punches."  
  
"Have you gone out yet?" she asked.  
  
"I've been wanting to," I said. "Maybe we could do it this weekend. Like a test run."  
  
She nodded. "I'd like that. Do your parents know?"  
  
"My dad doesn't. My mom died three years ago." I was going to leave it at that, but clarified, "Car accident."  
  
For a few moments, Maribel just stared at the light from one of the basement windows. She looked spaced out and winced a little.  
  
"My mom died in a car accident too. It was last September, during Hurricane Leslie. It hit Boston really bad, and me and my mom were . . ." She trailed off, but she then took a deep breath and went on, "Anyway, that's how I got this hook. And my powers. I felt that when it happened, like something going into my head. At the time I just thought I was crazy. I didn't  _know_  I had powers until a few weeks later. I was in physical therapy when the nurses said they had a surprise for me. They wheeled me into this big room there was Parian, making rag dolls dance for all the kids in the hospital. I was in a bad mood and I remember thinking,  _I don't need a fucking puppet show. I need Panacea!_  And then . . . I could sense her powers, see them in my head. All Parian's little dolls fell to the floor, then, and Parian stumbled. Even with her porcelain mask I could tell she was afraid. Everyone else looked either worried or confused. And I felt bad for her, because she was just trying to make the kids happy. And then . . . just like that the puppets rose up and began moving--and so did everyone's clothes the window drapes. Even heavier things like lamps and chairs levitated. It didn't take long for me to figure it out, and so I dialed her back to normal. Everyone chalked it up to Parian having an off day."  
  
She turned back to me and asked, "How did you get your powers?"  
  
"The locker," I said. "You've probably already heard the details."  
  
"Oh, sorry," she said. "Maybe that's the way people get powers: by having something really shitty happen to them."  
  
"Maybe," I said. I wondered if mine was worth it. Despite how horrible it had been, despite the insanity that came with their manifestation and the nightmares that followed, I decided it was. I was glad I was a parahuman. But for Maribel, the price had to be too high.  
  
We went outside and tested her range. She dampened my powers and I slowly stepped down the sidewalk away from her. Four houses down, about sixty or seventy yards, I could begin to again the sense the bugs around me. Past the fifth house, I was back to normal. I had her amp me up--slowly, this time. It felt . . . good, but in a dizzy, euphoric way. I've never done drugs, but it was what I imagined snorting a line of coke would feel like. I don't know how far my range reached, but I could sense the crustaceans in the bay, and that was well past a mile out. Her amping seemed to have messed with my fine control, though, because it was hard to focus on any bug in particular. The details felt vague.  
  
"Let's only amp when I need it," I told her. "I can use it gather up super-swarms, but for things like surveillance I'm going to need practice."  
  
"Sure, we can do that anytime you want," she said.  
  
I smiled. I found her desperate, eager-to-please attitude a little off-putting, but she needed a friend as much as I did. Still, I wasn't used to this, having gone for so long without anyone to talk to besides my dad.  
  
As we returned to the house, I planned my words and asked, "Did you need to take a shower? I mean, with all the juice and stuff. I can throw your clothes in the wash. And if you want, you can spend the night here. Or even the whole weekend. My dad won't mind."  
  
She said yes, as I'd assumed she would, and called her grandmother to tell her. I wasn't sure if our bathroom had what she needed. Didn't black people use special products when they washed their hair? Or was I being racist? I guess what we had must have worked because when she came out her short dreadlocks looked clean and dry.  
  
While her clothes were in the dryer, she wore one of our bathrobes, which was so big on her she had to hold up the bottom so as to not trip as she walked. The effort was graceless since she only had one hand and wasn't wearing her hook, so we spent most of that time sitting on the couch watching cartoons. And that was what we were doing when my dad came home.  
  
"Please don't mention Emma," I whispered before he came through the front door. "She used to be my best friend, and my dad . . . he doesn't know what she's like now."  
  
She nodded, though I could see that bothered her.  
  
My dad was almost embarrassingly pleased to meet her. He even mentioned I hadn't had anyone over "since Emma," and then asked me how she was. Maribel winced on my behalf.  
  
Still, it wasn't nearly as awkward as it could have been. We gave him a half-truths version of how we met, mentioning the bullies and how I'd caught them bothering her. He ordered us pizza, and when she got dressed he managed not to stare too badly at her hook.  
  
He asked her about herself, and when she mentioned the hurricane he didn't press her for more. Brockton Bay had gotten a lot of wind and rain from Leslie, but we'd seen on the news the devastation in Boston. It wasn't as bad as the one that hit New Orleans had been, but for a while our city had a fair share of refugees.  
  
After dinner, Maribel and I retreated to my room. I showed her my notebook and translated for her the cipher. My list of potential names and my power test results interested her, but from her yawns I could tell she was growing tired.  
  
"We can do this tomorrow," I said. "We'll buy some supplies at the market. And see if we can't make you a costume."  
  
I gave her an unused toothbrush I found, and she changed into her gym shorts and one of my t-shirts. It had short sleeves, and for the first time I saw the scarred, round stump of her right arm which ended about halfway past her elbow. Though the shirt was big enough on her that it looked more like a knee-length dress, it still hugged her figure enough for me to see she was a pretty girl, amputee or not, and had more curves than I'd ever have. That army coat she always wore wasn't very flattering, but I guessed she had her insecurities. Not that I had room to talk.  
  
Just like I'd done back when Emma used to stay over, I gave Maribel my bed while for myself I unrolled an old sleeping bag on the floor. In the 'nightlight' of my computer monitor, I saw Maribel lay her head on one pillow and hug her arms around another, spooning it. She looked down at me, making the effort to meet my eyes.  
  
"Emma's the redhead, right?" she asked, keeping her voice low.  
  
"Yeah, and I've always wanted to know why she betrayed me, why she was obsessed with making my life hell . . . and now that I know it was because she wanted to impress her new sociopath cape friend, I feel cheated." Just thinking about it made my body tense with anger. I felt like crying. But was I missing something? I paused and added, "That's what it had to have been, right? I mean, Emma has to know who Sophia is; otherwise nothing makes sense."  
  
"Some people are just shit," Maribel said. "Me and my brother used to be really close. Now he's with Empire Eighty-Eight."  
  
She must have seen my confusion because she amended, "Half-brother. He was always getting into trouble, even before the hurricane. After we moved here, he began hanging out with new friends and going on about how he was glad mom was dead because she was a race traitor. He even told me I should never have been born. He moved out a couple months ago. I guess he's not my brother anymore."  
  
"Wow," I said. "That's . . . that's terrible."  
  
"But not everyone's like that. I'm glad I met you, Taylor. I think we're going to be good friends."  
  
A lump grew in my throat. Even if my eyes were a little wet, I doubted she could see that in the darkness. "I think we will too, Maribel. And thank you."  
  
For a while, I just lay there, planning for tomorrow. Today was a good day, I decided before I finally fell asleep.


	3. Chapter Three (Interlude: Maribel)

  
**Chapter Three**  
(Interlude: Maribel)  


Maribel awoke with her face snuggled in a pillow. It took a few moments to remember where she was. On the floor, Taylor's sleeping bag was empty, and she couldn't sense her anywhere in the house or nearby.  
  
Taylor hadn't ditched her. She wouldn't. The idea was silly.  
  
Maribel pulled the white sock over her stump and from the nightstand took her prosthetic hook and slid it on. As she did every morning, she flexed the mechanism of the pincers. When she stood and stretched, her right knee and shoulder cracked with pain. She wrapped on the leg brace, tugging the Velcro tight. In the bathroom, she took her Paxil, and then used her hook to brush her teeth. She felt a little bit of pride that she didn't drop the toothbrush once.  
  
She walked down the stairs and smelled the bacon and toast before she saw Mr. Hebert--or Danny, as he insisted she call him--sitting at the kitchen table.  
  
"Hi there, Maribel. Pull up a seat. We saved you a plate. There's some leftover pizza in the fridge. Taylor's on her morning run. She'll be back in a few minutes."  
  
Maribel knew she shouldn't feel left out, but it still kind of stung.  
  
Before the hurricane, when Maribel had a mom, a brother and friends, she used to be pretty good at small-talk. It didn't come quite as naturally now, but she wanted to make the effort.  
  
Danny was a gawky-looking scarecrow of a man that always seemed worried. Despite or maybe even because of that, Maribel liked him. He was a lot like his daughter and was a nice dad. Maribel's dad had been someone she'd seen a few times, and that was years ago. Some of her mother's boyfriends had been kind enough, but they had come and gone.  
  
"Thanks for having me over, Danny," she said between bites of toast.  
  
"Oh, you can come over as much as you like. I'm glad Taylor has a friend again. You probably know more about the bullies than I do, but they've been giving her some real trouble. Back in January, they . . . Well, I won't go into it . . ."  
  
"I know about the locker," she said.  
  
Danny looked down and nodded. "The school promised they'd watch out for her after that, but if the bullies are bothering you, they're not doing enough." He sighed. "Maybe I should call Alan--that's Emma's dad, he's a lawyer--and see if he can't put pressure on them. Maybe Emma can keep an eye out for you two. She and Taylor were as close as sisters a couple of years ago, but I think they drifted apart. It happens. I think you'd like her, though."  
  
Well, Danny may have been a nice dad, but he was also an oblivious idiot. She considered telling him the truth but didn't want to lose Taylor's trust. And besides, she had a feeling Danny's ignorance was largely willing.  
  
Fortunately, Taylor returned before things got more awkward.  
  
They both got ready to leave. Maribel wore the same clothes as yesterday, which she tended to do anyway. At least they were clean.  
  
The walk to the market was longer than her knee was comfortable with, though she didn't want to look weak in front of Taylor. It was bad enough Taylor was obviously taking things slow so Maribel wouldn't lag behind. This gave them more time to talk, however, and that soon turned to cape names,  
  
"How about 'Hive Queen'?" Maribel asked. "Because, you know, you're a queen bee or whatever."  
  
"Well, it's not  _necessarily_  villainous," Taylor conceded, "but it sounds kind of ostentatious, doesn't it?"  
  
"You're a  _superhero._ "  
  
"But I'm just starting out. That name sounds like it belongs to someone who's already established themselves."  
  
"How about just, 'Hive' then? Later, you can give yourself a promotion."  
  
"Maybe. I'll think on it. How about you?"  
  
Maribel had thought on this too, but trump names were kind of tricky. "'Karma'?" she ventured. "Because I buff the good guys and nerf the bad?"  
  
Taylor frowned and looked her over. "It's not what I'd pick for you, but . . . I don't  _know_  what I'd pick for you. I'm sorry. I'm terrible at coming up with names."  
  
Maribel shrugged. "We both are. I guess we can just let the public name us, but we might get stuck with something stupid."  
  
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Taylor said.  
  
Maribel had grown inured to the ache in her knee by the time they reached the market, a massive bazaar that sold every kind of ware imaginable. In Boston, she'd go to places like this every weekend, but in the few months she'd been in Brockton Bay, she'd come here only handful of times with her grandma. With its labyrinthine crowds and constant background chatter, she found she was no longer her old self and felt anxious and vulnerable.  
  
Because of that, she kept on her army coat, even though it was warm. As a compromise, however, she left it unbuttoned, displaying her Erykah Badu t-shirt--the one her mom had bought her. Her hand and hook she hid in her pockets.  
  
What she always did when encountering new crowds was use her powers to scan for parahumans. Panacea lived in Brockton Bay, and Maribel could always hope to come across her. She knew what she'd do if she did: limp around and look sad. She hated pity-stares, but if she was going to get one, it may as well be from someone who could do something about it.  
  
But the only capes she detected were some sort of deductive thinker, a master body-controller, and a shaker who could generate fields of sensory-dampening blackness. That last one could have been Grue of the Undersiders, though if it was, his Wiki page didn't do his powers justice. She searched for sight of them among the masses of Saturday morning shoppers, but they were already out of range.  
  
Taylor bought some straps for her costume, and Maribel spent most of what little she had on a can of pepper spray. She'd told Taylor she had more money than she really did, but the lie was a benign one. No cash? No credit card? It didn't matter: Maribel would get what she needed.  
  
They passed a stall selling woodwind instruments, and Maribel stopped when she saw a saxophone. It was an Alto Yamaha, student model. She wasn't really admiring--it was too painful for that--just staring and remembering.  
  
"I used to play," Maribel said. "Afterwards . . . my old school said they could get me a custom sax, one that could be played one-handed. But then I moved here. I doubt Winslow would be willing to foot the bill."  
  
Taylor sighed. "Even if they did, it'd just be another thing for the trio to fuck with. Last year, they stole my flute--my  _mother's_  flute--right out of my locker. I don't even want to know what they did with it."  
  
Maribel looked up at Taylor's thin face, the broad mouth tight with anger. When Taylor spoke of the bitches, she always paradoxically seemed resolute while at the same time defeated. It was heartbreaking.  
  
"I'm sorry," Maribel said, gently squeezing Taylor's hand. She hoped the gesture wasn't too weird.  
  
They went on. Maribel waited until they out of everyone's earshot before saying, "You should tell your dad. Tell him everything."  
  
"Everything?" Taylor asked, raising an eyebrow. "Like that I'm a cape?"  
  
"Yeah. And about the bitches. You act like they're always going to win and you're always going to lose. But it doesn't have to be that way."  
  
Taylor barked a bitter laugh. "You say that, and you know Sophia is a Ward. She's  _protected._ What the fuck can my dad do? And besides, I have no proof. I've written down everything they've done since September, but they could say I just made all that up. It'd be my word against their's. The only thing that would happen would be we'd lose everything to legal fees." She gave Maribel a shrewd look. "Have you told your grandmother you have powers?"  
  
"Yes," she said, noting Taylor expected a  _no._  "But I don't think she believes me. It's hard to show off trump powers if there's no cape around." That, and Maribel had just been released from a psychiatric ward when she told her. No need to bring that up, though.  
  
Taylor stopped at a rickety bookseller's stall and rifled through an old cardboard box filled with worn paperbacks. It looked like science fiction and fantasy stuff. Maribel wasn't much of a reader, though, and so decided this was as good an opportunity as it was going to get to do her shopping.  
  
"I have somethings I need to do," she said. "Just wait here. It won't take more than a few minutes, and . . . it's kind of a surprise."  
  
That Taylor's eyes narrowed showed she found this a little suspicious, but then she probably told herself Maribel was just going to get her a gift. Which was true. Sort of.  
  
They agreed to meet at Fugly Bob's in a half hour, which was more than enough time. As she lost herself in the crowd, she hoped Taylor wasn't using bugs to spy on her.  
  
Along the edge of the market were a number of real brick-and-mortar businesses, mostly corporate chains. Maribel chose a convenience store and dug through a trashcan out of sight of the front doors. It smelled of rotten milk and spilled soda, but she soon found an intact receipt listing a number of pricey items. Its date was yesterday. Good.  
  
There was that old saying: "If you give a man a fish, you feed him for a day; if you teach him how to fish, you feed him for a lifetime." Maribel's mom had taught her many things, and though she was gone and Maribel missed her, what she had learned from her still remained.  
  
She had loved their shopping trips together. Mom would distract the employees with some loud but trivial complaint while Maribel would slink along the medicine aisle, methodically sweeping the shelves of their name brand allergy and antacid pills. That stuff sold like hot cakes at the flea market.  
  
Maribel was no longer fast or nimble, but she knew what to do.  
  
She peeked through the window and waited until the front cashier disappeared down a corner before entering through the automatic doors. The most expensive things on the receipt were shavers and high-end hairstyle products. It didn't take long to collect them. After making sure she wasn't seen, she used her hook to scrape off the security stickers and jimmy open the anti-theft locks. Her shoulder burned by the time she was done, making her acutely aware of the screws and pins that held the shattered joint together. She stuffed the loot in her army coat, made sure the coast was clear and sneaked out of the store.  
  
A minute later, she re-entered and boldly limped up to the customer service desk.  
  
Any manager with two brain cells to rub together would throw her out or even call the police, but this fat, middle-aged woman obviously didn't give a shit she was being scammed. Corporate policy stated that if you had the receipt and the items, you could return them, and that was that.  
  
The lady looked sympathetically when she saw Maribel's hook. "I'm afraid I can only give you store credit, sweetie."  
  
Maribel smiled, eyeing the goods beneath the glass counter. "That'll be fine."  
  
She ended up buying a tiny plug-in camera, a burner phone, two radio headsets and two pairs of cheap binoculars. On her way out, she filched a packaged rain slicker and a wide-brimmed black hat. Not badass like Taylor's, but it was a costume.  
  
She was a little ways out of the store when she detected the cape. The powers involved spacial distortion, which meant it was Vista. Maribel scanned the crowd in the direction her senses told her until she spotted the pretty blond girl. The Ward was younger than Maribel, maybe about twelve, and was strolling along with a canvas shopping bag while she ate a corn dog.  
  
A few days before, Maribel would have been thrilled to see her, just as she'd been when she first saw Sophia at Winslow.  
  
Even before Shadow Stalker had joined the Wards, Maribel had almost obsessively followed her career on the PHO forum. Shadow Stalker: the edgy lone-wolf antihero cleaning up Brockton Bay. Sophia certainly had looked the part, with her fierce panther-like face, long straight black hair and a slender athletic body Maribel wished she had. But then Maribel had heard things, and she had watched. The truth had been crushing.  
  
For all Maribel knew, they were all like that. Did Vista torture kittens? Was Gallant a rapist? If the corruption ran that deep, the Wards were just a house of cards waiting for that one little gust of nightmare PR to blow them away.  
  
Nothing that dramatic was likely to happen, but at the very least Maribel could take down Sophia. That's what friends were for.  
  
She found Taylor sitting at a booth at Fugly Bobs, a rundown looking fast food joint overlooking the beach. While munching on cheeze-fries, Maribel showed Taylor what she'd 'bought.'  
  
Taylor had only pecked at her burger, but then she didn't look like she ate very much. She fiddled with the flip phone Maribel had given her and looked vaguely disappointed.  
  
"Is . . . is the surprise you were talking about? I mean, it's nice. Thank you. I guess I do need--"  
  
Maribel laughed. "No, that's not it. You'll just have to wait. But don't worry. I know you'll like it."


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four  
**

Maribel said she'd feel guilty stealing my bed two nights in a row, so we ended up using the sofa bed. It was wide enough for both of us, and the living room TV was bigger anyway. I awoke to the sound of cartoons.  
  
Maribel was beside me, snoring softly and hugging a pillow, a little bit of drool leaking from her lips. Between us lay a half-empty box of chocolate chip cookies--leftovers from the snacks we brought home from the market. I was a little annoyed she'd dropped crumbs all over the sheets, but its not like we had to worry about ants. When I got up, I considered searching her backpack for whatever 'surprise' she'd bought for me, but only for a moment. Satisfying my curiosity wasn't worth the breach of trust.  
  
My dad and I ate breakfast in sight of the sofa bed. Maribel stirred, maybe at the smell of bacon, but didn't awake.  
  
"I take it she's not a morning person," my dad joked.  
  
I laughed a little. "Too many late-night reruns. But yeah, I don't think she is."  
  
I was sort of glad, though. If she were awake, I'd have to tell her to wait while I go running, which would feel kind of rude. It was best to get it out of the way fast, to avoid that awkwardness. I headed out the side door, breaking into an all out run the moment I passed the chain link gate.  
  
When I returned, Maribel was in the shower, so I slipped down to the basement to check on my costume. Last night, I dyed it black and gray, and it was mostly dry now. Tonight, Maribel and I were going on a 'practice patrol.'  
  
I had mixed feelings about this. On one hand, with the exception of tinkers, Maribel could neutralize any supervillain threat. On the other hand, she had a bad knee. Yesterday I saw how much it bothered her even when I was keeping a slow pace. I could protect her with my swarm, but it was still inconvenient if we needed to move quickly.  
  
But aside from doing something stupid, like 'borrowing' my dad's car, there was no way around it.  
  
Later in the day, I put some final touches on my costume, and then we focused on hers, which comprised of a black wide-brim fedora, an oversize black raincoat and a green scarf I found in my closet. She was too short to pull it off and ended up looking like a little kid trying to dress up like anOld West bank robber. But it hid her face from the nose down, and the sleeves were long enough that it wasn't obvious she had a hook. I promised I'd make her a better costume with my spiders, though that would take a while.  
  
The few hours before nightfall were spent in lazy anticipation. I tried to discuss tactics, though Maribel was more interested in cape names. It's strange I hadn't given mine much thought. I guess it didn't seem that important. She made the argument that whatever we chose shouldn't be  _too_ indicative of our powers, so "Bug Girl" and "Trump Girl" were out. That somehow made the choice harder. Our discussion went nowhere, periodically stalling whenever my dad passed my room.  
  
We waited until he went to bed, which fortunately was early on Sunday nights. Maribel was surprisingly stealthy as she opened the side door and closed it behind us. Her face was fixed in an excited grin, her dark eyes wild with mischief.  
  
We hid behind some bushes. I put on my mask and then took off my sweatshirt and jeans, revealing my costume beneath. Maribel just put on hers over her t-shirt and pants. I stashed my clothes in a gym bag, and we headed towards the Docks.  
  
When the quality of the neighborhood began its decline from 'lower income' towards 'abandoned ruins,' I said, "Amp my range. Slowly."  
  
I felt the strange high of the boost and instructed all the bugs in what may have been a two mile radius to gather at a point north-east of our location. It took a few moments to concentrate. My brain buzzed with the effort, like a sort of mental static, but I didn't mind.  
  
"How many bugs can you reach?" she asked behind me.  
  
"Millions and millions and millions," I said and laughed. "Enough to flood the streets, wash the bad guys away."  
  
Maribel giggled.  
  
After we walked a couple of blocks, I realized my head was floating. My feet were far away. The street, the neighborhood, the city shrunk and receded to a single dot in an endless void.  
  
An entity rode within me; I could feel it, and it was a fragment of something so gargantuan that it not only dwarfed the world but shattered any idea of perception. I was not just Taylor Hebert. I was more. I was no one.  
  
"Are you all right?" asked a distant voice. "You're acting weird. Oh, shit! I'm sorry! Okay, okay, dialing you back down."  
  
I blinked and looked around. I was slumped against the brick wall of an apartment building. Blood roared in my ears like a jet engine. Behind my mask cold sweat soaked my face. A small brown hand was on my chest armor for support. Above her green scarf and below her black hat, Maribel's horn rim glasses reflected moonlight as she stared up at me with concern.  
  
"I did it slow! I thought you'd be okay. I . . . I think my amping has . . ."  
  
"Side effects," I finished dryly. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Yeah, it does. But I'm fine, really. New rule though: amp for no more than ten seconds. Don't wait for me to tell you to cut if off. Okay?"  
  
She nodded. "Do you want to go back?"  
  
"No, the bugs I called are on their way here. I'm already gathering them in. We might as well see if there's anything going on."  
  
With that craziness behind us, we continued, keeping to the shadows along the sidewalk and down alleyways. None of the streetlights were lit; I doubt this area even had power. The light of the moon was enough, though.  
  
Maribel wasn't too bad at keeping up. I tried not to be impatient, but if she was going to be a cape she really needed to see Panacea. I didn't think that would be a problem, though. Once we were established, we could give New Wave a call and arrange a meeting. We wouldn't want to join them, since their members had to go public with their identities, but Maribel's power was so useful I'm sure healing her would take priority.  
  
This was what I was thinking about when we heard the gunfire.  
  
I sprinted behind cover of a red-brick building corner and peeked down the street, pulling my binoculars free from my belt for a closer look. The street dead-ended with a large warehouse covered in graffiti. Along its wide concrete loading porch stood a group of around twenty figures dressed in red and green shirts and jackets. Most of them were ducking behind plastic crates and shooting wildly through the broken windows into the warehouse. The gun flashes lit the darkness like fireflies, but the interior of the warehouse remained unnaturally black as if it were filled to the ceiling with India ink. One of the men on the porch stood out. He had to be ten feet tall. He was bare-chested and in an ornate metal mast. Metal plates half-coated his bulging musculature, which was wreathed with flickering flames.  
  
"That's Lung," said Maribel behind me.  
  
"I know. Are you in range?" I said.  
  
"Not quite. We need to get closer. And you see that dark shit in there? That's Grue's powers."  
  
"Who?" I asked.  
  
"He's in the Undersiders. Supervillain gang. You know, you really need to look over the Parahuman Wiki."  
  
I really did. I'd never heard of them before.  
  
I took out my disposable cellphone and dialed the PRT. While they were corrupt, we needed them. They picked up on the first ring.  
  
"Brockton Bay Parahuman Response hotline. Is this an emergency?" answered a woman's voice.  
  
"Lung and some ABB are attacking a building. A gang war, I guess. They're shooting guns and Lung's getting big. The . . . uh . . . Undersiders may be inside." I looked at a rusted street sign and gave her the intersection.  
  
"I don't sense Oni Lee, but he could be nearby," Maribel said.  
  
"Oh, and Oni Lee might be here," I added.  
  
"Are you in danger?" the woman asked.  
  
Two four-legged creatures, both the size of vans, jumped on the loading porch. They were shaped like a cross between a lizard and a tiger and were packed with exposed muscles and bony spikes. One began mangling some of the ABB members, biting arms and legs, while the second barreled into Lung, knocking him over.  
  
"There's . . . monsters here too. Better hurry." I hung up. I turned to Maribel. "Come on, follow me."  
  
We backtracked and followed along an alley behind a factory on our side of the street. The swarm I summoned while I was amped was orders of magnitude more numerous than what I had ever controlled before. Numerous in a Biblical plague sense. I'd kept them out of sight, hidden in the surrounding derelict buildings, but now I commanded the millions of insects and spiders to attack, holding only the more venomous kinds in reserve. Though I wasn't in line of sight, all the bugs crawling over every surface meant I could virtually see the outlines and movements of each person and creature in the area.  
  
The ABB were screaming and running, some falling off the loading porch and rolling in the parking lot. But Lung was untouched: my bugs could sense the deadly heat from his fires. Inside the warehouse, they tasted the blood on three of the four people, as well as on a third creature. I took this to mean the Undersiders were wounded, so I eased off. I did, however, send massive swarms around both the back and front to discourage escape.  
  
After turning down another alley which led back towards the street, I finally saw what I was looking for. I put my hands on the ladder rungs. The gunfire was now louder but sparser and scattered with snarls and shouts.  
  
"Are you in range now?" I asked.  
  
"Yeah. I sense Lung, Grue, a thinker, a master body-controller and someone who I guess is Bitch."  
  
"Who?" I hated asking that.  
  
"Or Hellhound," Maribel explained. "Those big lizard-lions out there? They're her dogs."  
  
"Shit," I said. "Well, shut down their powers."  
  
Above her scarf her eyes smiled. "Already did. Now, sic the bugs on them."  
  
"Already did," I echoed, returning her a grin she couldn't see.  
  
I reached under my mask and switched on my radio mic. Maribel did the same. I nodded at the dumpster.  
  
"Hide there, keep out of sight. And let me know if other capes show up."  
  
Her right leg remained stiff as she hunched down. She pulled out her pepper spray from her raincoat. Several thousand wasps, hornets and bees buzzed around her in a dark cloud before blanketing the surrounding pavement. She looked over her bodyguards uneasily.  
  
"Be careful," she said.  
  
"You too."  
  
I climbed the ladder to the top of the factory and ran in a crouch along the roof's gravel to the lip of the edge. The warehouse had lost its eerie darkness. The ABB members had all either fled or were curled in fetal positions on the ground. What concerned me, however, was Lung. He was about thirty yards away and was still armored, still big. I must have either made a sound or he had super-hearing, because his gaze shot directly on me. One of the 'dogs' had its jaws clenched on his forearm but he tossed it aside and moved in my direction.  
  
Fuck.  
  
"I thought you shut Lung down!" I said into my mic.  
  
"What? I did! I did!" she cried over the ear bud.  
  
Well, he was a  _little_ smaller, maybe eight or nine feet tall, and the dogs were now only about compact car-sized. How long had it been? A minute?  
  
"I guess it takes time for capes like him," I said. "But keep it up. Try to do it faster, if you can."  
  
I set my venomous reserves on Lung. As he ran towards me, sputtering fire killed the first wave, though the flames weren't as strong as they'd been before. Bellowing like an enraged beast, he leaped forward from the middle of the street and slammed into the side of factory. Bricks crunched and shattered. The roof shuddered beneath my feet. I heard scrabbling, followed by a crash to the sidewalk two stories below.  
  
Thousands of wasps, hornets, bees, black widows and brown recluses enveloped him. Most of them I held some back from stinging or biting: I didn't want him dead. From the feel of my bugs I could tell he'd lost some of his armored plates and now wasn't that much bigger than a normal man. I stepped to the roof's edge and peered down. I couldn't see him through the swirling opaque cloud of bugs, though I could hear his growls and sense his thrashing. I cut back until they were just nibbling on him.  
  
"We've got Lung pinned down. Amp him up just a little bit. He might need some of his healing powers to survive all that venom."  
  
She sighed. "Okay, but it's shame you called the PRT. We didn't need them, and if no one knew we were here, we could have just, you know . . ."  
  
"We don't kill," I snapped in a tone I hoped ended the discussion. While Lung was a real bad guy, heroes didn't do that, especially when the villain was down. That she brought it up kind of disturbed me. I'll need to talk to her about it later.  
  
"Okay, fine. I guess you're right," she said. "But we did pretty good, didn't we? How many could say they took down the baddest mofo in Brockton Bay? On  _their first night?_ "  
  
I laughed. "Just us, I guess. This might be a record."  
  
I crossed the gravel back to the ladder and stepped out to climb down.  
  
"Oni Lee!" Maribel shouted. "No, wait, there's two of--behind you!"  
  
I turned just as the blade scraped across my ribs, shooting pain along my side. I cried out and fell on my back beside the roof's raised lip.  
  
"Taylor!" Maribel shrieked through my ear bud.  
  
Oni Lee stood over me. His costume was a black bodysuit and a leering Japanese-style demon mask, crimson with two green stripes running down from the eyes. He carried a large number of knives on his belt and bandoleer. His left arm hung limp at his side, a bloody bandage wrapped around the bicep.  
  
In his right hand he raised an large, thick-bladed knife, but then his head jerked around as if he were confused or searching for something.  
  
"He's shut down!" said Maribel "Are you there? Are you . . . ? Oh, god, please . . ."  
  
My swarm focused on his mask, attacking through the eye and mouth holes. He panicked and staggered, waving his weapon wildly. I reared back my foot and rammed it into his crotch. I didn't have the leverage to put much strength into the kick, and I felt a cup beneath. But it was enough to double him over. He slumped sideways against the roof's knee-high lip.  
  
I sat up, my side protesting, and dug my fingers into his bandage. He screamed and tried to slash me. I blocked his arm with my own, but he was stronger and knocked me back into the gravel.  
  
He stood again, his back to the roof's edge. Hundreds of bugs were crawling, biting and stinging beneath his face, but he must have been able to still see because he tossed the knife down at me. The throw was clumsy, and the blade struck sideways against my mask. But as it flipped over my head, a line of fire passed through my scalp. I hissed and pressed my hand against the bleeding cut. Note to self: wear helmet.  
  
Oni Lee drew another knife from his bandoleer.  
  
Well, fuck this.  
  
I threw myself forward, grabbed his belt and shoved. As he tumbled back he stabbed down, and I felt the blade scratch against the spade-shaped armored plate that hung over my spine. His legs hit the roof's lip and backwards he fell, screaming head over heels. I heard a metallic crash.  
  
"Shit!" Maribel cried. "Are you all right? You're all right, aren't you? Please tell me you're all right!" Her nervous whimpers dribbled over the radio.  
  
Blood from the cut on my head was trickling under my mask and down the left side of my face, but the slash on my ribs had only frayed, but not penetrated the silk. They both hurt though.  
  
"Well enough," I said, grinning. I heard her sigh with relief.  
  
I looked over the edge. Oni Lee had landed on the lid of the dumpster Maribel was hiding behind. The twenty foot drop had been enough to warp the metal. He was sprawled like a rag-doll and wasn't moving. My bugs couldn't feel any breath under his mask.  
  
I had to force the words out. "Is he dead?"  
  
Maribel cautiously tiptoed forward, held out her pepper spray and gave him a quick blast in the eye holes. He quickly sputtered and flopped around a little, groaning weakly. He was pretty messed up.  
  
"Alive enough," she said. She then gingerly tugged a knife from his bandoleer and slipped it in her raincoat pocket.  
  
I climbed down and walked around the building to check on Lung. He was back to his normal state, and his bare torso was practically saturated in welts. I kept an army of black widows and brown recluses to stand guard over him, just in case.  
  
Bitch's dogs--my bugs told me they were regular size now--had retreated inside the warehouse, which was still being besieged by my thick swarms. Four of the ABB were still lying unconscious or incapacitated across the parking lot, though from the grisly teeth marks on arms and legs, I was pretty sure they were victims more from the dogs than my bugs. One of them had his thigh chewed wide open; the surrounding asphalt was soaked in enough blood that I guessed he may have been more than unconscious.  
  
I didn't think they'd give us trouble, but I kept spiders on them too. Hopefully the PRT would bring ambulances.  
  
We were about to approach the warehouse to check on the Undersiders's injuries, when Maribel gave a startled cry.  
  
"Oh, shit! Shadow Stalker!" She pointed at where we'd just left.  
  
We waited a few moments. A dark smoky shape raced against the night sky along the factory's roof . . . and then there she was, a figure in a gray urban camouflage cape and hood, a black metal mask over her face. Sophia. Shadow Stalker.  
  
My fists clenched. I glared up at her. Along the periphery of my consciousness I could feel my swarm stir. Maribel stood beside me. I hoped she didn't say something that'd give us away. Or get us arrested.  
  
Shadow Stalker looked at us while talking on a cellphone. She looked at Lung below, then nodded behind her. We were far enough away that I couldn't tell for sure, but I thought she whistled.  
  
"Lung  _and_  Oni Lee? You two did this? Whoever you guys are, that's pretty awesome."


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five  
**

Shadow Stalker stepped off the twenty-foot drop from the factory's roof and entered her shadow state an instant before touching the sidewalk beside Lung's body. Her form looked smoky, almost sandy in its consistency. She changed back to normal and walked towards us. Maribel stared at her, and I just knew she'd been tempted to mess up that fancy landing. Even I couldn't say I'd feel too bad about Sophia breaking her legs.  
  
"The PRT were expecting a fight," Shadow Stalker said. "Looks like you did their job for them."  
  
After looking over the injured ABB members, she stopped a short distance from us and waited expectantly, perhaps for some cute offhand banter like, _They snooze, they lose._ Neither of us spoke, however. Behind her painted black mask the moonlight glinted off her dark eyes as she examined Maribel and I, and then the swarms behind us. The lenses of my own mask hid my glare.  
  
"You're heroes, right?" Her tone was confident and unconcerned.  
  
Another pause. Maribel fidgeted, her hand and hook hidden in her raincoat pockets.  
  
Shadow Stalker tilted her head. She stood straighter than Sophia, her movements more fluid yet at the same time deliberate, like a tiger stalking prey. I recognized the voice, though. Even reverberating through her metal mask, it carried the same smoothness with a hint of latent anger. This was the bitch who shoved me in that disgusting locker. This was a fucking hero.  
  
I was clenching my jaw, which caused the cut on my scalp to throb. The dribbles of blood were still warm under my mask. I calmed my bugs, took a deep breath and sighed. No reason to let this get any more awkward than it already was.  
  
"Yeah," I said. "Independent."  
  
"I used to be independent," said Shadow Stalker.  
  
"We don't want to join the Wards," I said quickly.  
  
Shadow Stalker tensed. "I wasn't fucking asking."  
  
I turned around, as if dismissing her. "There's more wounded in there. I'm going to check on them."  
  
"Are Lung and Oni Lee staying down?" Shadow Stalker asked.  
  
"Trust us, they're not going anywhere," Maribel said. She affected a deepness to her voice that made me wince a little. It sounded ridiculous, like a small child imitating a lifetime smoker.  
  
Maribel also couldn't quite hide her limp. Shadow Stalker hesitated, but kept pace behind us. I climbed the grated metal steps to the loading porch and stopped at the sparse edge of my swarm.  
  
My bugs had already scouted the warehouse's interior. All four Undersiders were crouched or lying behind some sort of central cover, though two of the three dogs were still pacing around the concrete floor. There was a good deal of blood. Someone was holding something made of metal in one hand. A few of my bugs felt along its surface.  
  
"One of you has a gun! Throw it outside!" I shouted.  
  
Keeping up her phony voice, Maribel added, "Don't make her send in the  _bees_!"  
  
Shadow Stalker snorted at that. "The Undersiders are trapped in there, right?"  
  
"Yeah," I said. "Three of them are bleeding. They're in no state to fight."  
  
A small silver pistol flew through a broken window and clattered by a storage crate. I saw Maribel look at it.  
  
From her cloak, Shadow Stalker drew two crossbows, one in each hand. She pushed past us up the steps.  
  
"I'm going in," she said.  
  
"Wait--" I began.  
  
She switched her shadow state and raced through first my swarm and then the brick wall itself. We heard barking, followed by two yelps. As we followed after her, Maribel briefly stumbled and fell against one of the crates, but she recovered. I pushed open the bullet-dented steel doors.  
  
The warehouse was furnished with a few rows of empty metal shelves and a service counter in the middle of the room. The collective drone of my swarm outside thrummed through the air. The only light came from the moon reflecting through the windows, but my bugs gave me a pretty good idea of where everyone was. We tailed Shadow Stalker as she stepped over a sprawled German Shepherd and Rottweiler, short glass shafts sticking in their side, and stood to face the space behind the counter.  
  
Huddled there like refugees were the Undersiders. One was sitting on the floor with his back against a cabinet door. His costume was motorcycle leathers and a motorcycle helmet with a skull visor. Blood, nearly black in the bad light, soaked rags which covered his shoulder and hip. Those were held in place by a boy with curly dark hair, whose costume had a Renaissance theme: puffy white shirt and a white mask like the ones used in Venetian carnivals. Lying next to them was a square-faced girl in a plaid skirt and a bloodstained sleeveless t-shirt, her 'costume' being a cheap plastic rottweiler mask. The corded hilt of what I recognized as one of Oni Lee's knives stuck out of her ribs. A girl with dirty blond hair and a purple or blue skintight outfit worried over the wound with fistfuls of towels. I almost didn't notice the whimpering terrier among them, its fur wet with blood.  
  
"Oh, come on! Now  _Shadow Stalker?"_ whined the boy in the white mask. _"_ This night is really beginning to suck." He hissed as he shifted from his kneeling position, clutching a bleeding shin.  
  
The girl in the rottweiler mask cried out in pain. "What the fuck did you do to my dogs?" she wheezed out. She was probably Bitch.  
  
"They're just tranquilizers. They don't let me use lethal bolts." The smirk behind Shadow Stalker's words was palpable. Arms folded with crossbows still in each hand, she stared down at the man in leather.  
  
"Is this how you're going to finally kill me?," he said in a voice muffled by the helmet. "Lying here half dead?"  
  
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," said Shadow Stalker in a way that meant that she most certainly did. She began loading her crossbows with practiced movements.  
  
"Even in my . . . lobotomized state," said the blond girl, "I can tell she's not going to do it because there's witnesses. And the PRT will be here any second--with an ambulance." Behind her black domino mask her eyes were wide with a spent desperation. Tentatively, she stood from her crouch and pointed at me.  
  
"By your costume I can tell you're the bug controller. Which means you"--her finger swiveled to Maribel--"are the power-nullifier. You were slipping back during that fight, weren't you, Hat Girl? I could feel my power return for brief flashes, especially during the end. It still is, like a flickering bulb. Did Oni Lee staunch his arm and make a reappearance? From the cut on Bug's head, I'm guessing yes. And you probably captured him. Maybe it's a matter of concentration, or maybe suppressing six capes at once taxes you. In any case, you better put extra focus on Oni Lee. Lung may be fucked up for now, but if Oni Lee gets his powers back for just a second:  _poof,_ he's gone. And he'll want revenge. This time he wasn't expecting his power to shut off like that, but next time he'll strike with a hit-and-run, slitting your throat before you can react. So . . . better not get distracted." The Undersider thinker gave us a vulpine grin that would have been more effective if she hadn't looked so haggard.  
  
Shadow Stalker jerked her head to Maribel. "You're a trump?"  
  
Maribel ignored her, her attention fixed on the blond thinker. I could hear the sneer in her  _faux_ -tough voice.  
  
"You want me to get nervous and accidentally free your power? Or Grue's or that body-master guy's there? Uh,  _no_. Even if I go  _oops_ and let Oni Lee teleport, his eyes are swollen shut and half his bones are broken. I'm more worried about you; I don't want to deal with your super-Sherlock Holmes shit."  
  
The thinker girl scowled, but after a moment her eyes drifted down at Maribel's raincoat pockets. I saw her smile.  
  
I felt a stab of panic. Even largely unpowered, this thinker had not only uncovered Maribel's abilities but also limitations I didn't even know about. Worse, if she revealed Maribel was hiding a prosthetic hook in her raincoat, that would almost certainly out her identity to Shadow Stalker. I had to stop this  _now_.  
  
Thousands of bugs swarmed through the windows behind me and formed an opaque black cloud which buzzed menacingly. I pointed at the thinker.  
  
"If you open your mouth, if you say one more word, I'll fly every one of these down your throat and up your nose. I will fill your _fucking lungs_."  
  
If looks could kill, the thinker girl's glare would be a ice-pick in my brain. She hesitated; she might know I was bluffing, but she might also know I was desperate. After a moment, her bravado fell, and she blanched. She said nothing.  
  
"A bug girl and a power-suppressor." Shadow Stalker shook her head. "I'm glad you two are on my side."  
  
 _Like fuck we are,_ I thought. I really didn't want this bitch's approval.  
  
My outside bugs sensed the vehicles first. We heard sirens.  
  
"Aegis. Armsmaster. Clockblocker," Maribel said without turning around. "They're here."  
  
As we stepped outside, Shadow Stalker said to me, "By the way, where'd you get the costume?"  
  
"Black widows," I said. "They weaved it." It felt nice to brag, even to someone I hated.  
  
"Spider weaving? No shit? I like it. It's cool." She turned to Maribel. "Yours sucks, though. Really needs work. No offense."  
  
"Fuck you," Maribel said.  
  
Shadow Stalker laughed as if we were all good friends. I so wanted to sic my swarm on her.  
  
Aegis hovered thirty feet above the parking lot. He was speaking into a cellphone while surveying the bodies, paying special attention to the unconscious Lung. Aegis' costume and helmet were rust red with a silver trim, a shield emblem on both. He was the leader of the Brockton Bay Wards. I once would have considered that a good thing.  
  
Behind him, Armsmaster's souped-up motorcycle led a convoy of four armored vans up the street. Below his mask, his tan face frowned as he looked down at us.  
  
"Shadow Stalker, you were told to stay out of this area."  
  
She shrugged. "I was bored, so I stopped by for a meet-and-greet with the new heroes. Look at all this! They're pretty badass."  
  
Aegis didn't seem happy. "Where are the Undersiders? _"_  
  
"They're in there." I nodded behind me. "They're alive."  
  
Armsmaster's motorcycle was sleek, massive and fit the him perfectly. It was even color coordinated with his blue and silver power armor. Its engine hummed softly as it coasted around the parking lot before pulling to a halt. The bulky vans parked behind him, and about two dozen PRT personnel in body-armor filed out the rear compartments. Some carried assault rifles while others containment foam sprayers. Among the group I spotted the white costume of Clockblocker.  
  
We went out. We met the heroes.  
  
Armsmaster was one of those capes who actually looked like a superhero and not just someone dressed like one. He was a true celebrity, a media icon. Even as disillusioned as I was, meeting him was still impressive.  
  
As expected, he told us we did a spectacular job tonight, though I was a little irked when he said we looked like villains. A couple of days ago, that would have really stung, but now I assumed he was at least partly behind Sophia's preferential treatment. As the head of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, his job involved more than just swinging tinker-tech halberds at bad guys. He dealt with politics and public relations.  **"Ward Superhero Traps Schoolgirl in Bio-Hazard Locker,"** was a headline that'd hardly help his career, so I could easily see him working with both Winslow High and the police to ensure nothing got reported and no charges were filed. To be fair, he probably gave Sophia a stern warning about keeping her pranks low profile. Stealing my stuff and pouring juice on my head? That's okay. Hospitalizing me? A bit too much.  
  
So when Armsmaster said we were heroes that looked like villains, I couldn't help but think that perhaps the reverse was true for him.  
  
Or maybe it was all just incompetence. Either way, their opinions meant little to me.  
  
They sprayed Lung with foam, leaving only his head free, and locked in a steel cage which they loaded into the back of a van. They were going to pump him full of tranquilizers, but held off when I told them the amount of venom I'd pumped into him. Oni Lee they put a bag on his head and tied him to a gurney. There was enough internal bleeding that one of the EMTs said they might need to call in Panacea. Maribel's laugh was bitter.  
  
Of the Undersiders, only the thinker girl--called, 'Tattletale,' as it turned out--could still walk. She shot me another dirty look as they led her into a van. For a supervillain gang, they didn't seem very impressive. From what Maribel had read on the Parahuman Wiki, they were relatively new and still small-time. They'd probably never make it big now.  
  
We were about to leave, but Armsmaster pointed out we were injured. There wasn't anything they could do about Maribel's limp, but the cut on my scalp was still trickling blood and had soaked my hair and face along the left side. It must be pretty bad if he could tell even through my mask.  
  
"Let our medics take a look at you," Armsmaster said. "And think on our offer of joining the Wards. If you'd like, you two can go on a couple of patrols. Get to know them. We could use capes with your powers, and we can offer you protection if the ABB attempts a reprisal."  
  
He handed Maribel a card which she accepted with her left hand. She'd spent most of the conversation silently glaring at him from under the brim of her black hat, and I couldn't say I was much more talkative. I was actually surprised Armsmaster took us at our word that we were heroes because we were acting more like villains caught in the embarrassing act of a good deed.  
  
I refused to ride with them back to the PRT Headquarters, so the medic cleaned the wound, rubbed on a topical anesthetic and sewed a few stitches.  
  
Shadow Stalker had been given a dressing down for disobeying orders--something of a habit for her, I surmised--and sent away, but Aegis and Clockblocker were still around. They both approached us.  
  
"Here comes another sales pitch," Maribel whispered.  
  
Clockblocker wore a white skintight costume armored with white interlocking panels. Animated gray clocks ticked and floated along its surface. The mask was a faceless expanse of white.  
  
"Six supervillains in one night? Lung  _and_ Oni Lee?" Clockblocker chuckled. "And I hear you two don't even have cape names yet? Is this your first night? Wow, now I feel really inadequate." He held out his hand to Maribel. His  _right_ hand.  
  
She'd kept her hook in her pockets ever since Shadow Stalker appeared; she wasn't about to out her infirmity now. She stared at it sullenly until I gave an exasperated sighed and shook it for her.  
  
He turned to Aegis and stage whispered, "Tough audience."  
  
"Yeah," Aegis agreed, scowling. "Is everything all right? You both seem . . . angry."  
  
For a moment I considered telling them why, or at least alluding to it. But for all I knew they not only knew about the bullying but were bullies themselves. I could picture the Wards lounging around a dinner table, Shadow Stalker bragging about the latest torment she put the 'Hebert girl' through while everyone had a good laugh.  
  
That  _probably_  wasn't true, I knew. But two days ago it would have been unthinkable.  
  
When neither of us replied, Clockblocker shook his head. "You two have really useful powers, but this edgy attitude thing? We already have one Shadow Stalker, and frankly that's one too many."  
  
"Clockblocker . . ." Aegis warned.  
  
"You don't like Shadow Stalker?" Maribel asked, almost hopefully. She'd shed her 'gritty' voice.  
  
"I didn't say that." His grin could be heard in his tone. "Notice I didn't  _deny_  it."  
  
"That's enough," Aegis said sharply, but I got the impression this had more to do with portraying an united front than defending Shadow Stalker. He wasn't exactly extolling her virtues.  
  
"You might want to keep an eye on her," I ventured. "Grue said she has it in for him, and I got the impression she doesn't always use non-lethal bolts."  
  
"You didn't hear this from us, though," said Maribel.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence. This wasn't news to them.  
  
Finally Aegis nodded solemnly. "Thank you. We'll look into that."  
  
Afterwards, Maribel and I began the long walk home. She waited until we were a couple of blocks away before speaking.  
  
"No capes in range, but could you use your swarm to . . . ?"  
  
"Already am," I said. Most bugs had poor eyesight, but I could tell if anyone was nearby. "No one's following us."  
  
From a nearby trash pile on the sidewalk, Maribel painfully knelt and took up a length of plastic plumbing. She used it as a cane, leaning on it heavily. Above her scarf I could see she her wince. She'd probably been trying to hide the pain for a while. There wasn't anything I could do, though. I wasn't strong enough to give her a piggyback ride, and it wasn't like we could ride a taxi in costume.  
  
"Tomorrow, we'll call New Wave," I said. "When they see your power, I guarantee there'll be no waiting list."  
  
"I hope so. I don't want to bitch, but being crippled really sucks." With her hook, she pulled something out of her pocket. It was Armsmaster's card. She tossed it to the ground.  
  
"I don't think Shadow Stalker's very popular with the Wards," I said.  
  
"Maybe, but she's still there.  _Someone's_ covering up for her. My 'nana says one bad asshole spoils the bunch. But which one's the asshole? And how many? Fuck them. Next time, we'll call the PRT and go hide. I don't want to deal with their bullshit."  
  
"Agreed," I said.  
  
The silence stretched on as we walked, though it was companionable and not uncomfortable. There was so much I wanted to discuss: her willingness to leave Lung to die, problems with our tactics, possible cape names . . . but I settled on subject that had been bugging me.  
  
"That thinker girl, Tattletale, implied there's a limit to how many capes you can shut down at once. Is that true?"  
  
Maribel nodded. "I didn't know until tonight. I guess it's like juggling. One's a cinch, two's easy, three's not too hard, but the more you got in the air, the more likely you'll fumble. And some powers are trickier than others. Lung? He's like deflating a balloon, but it's like the balloon trying to blow itself up while it's shrinking. It takes time. Yours? It's just like a dial: up and down. Oni Lee's was sneaky, but easy once I got a hold of it. But Tattletale's, hers was . . . slippery. If her power had been fully awake . . ."  
  
"Yeah," I agreed. "Let's hope we don't run into her again."  
  
I recovered my stashed clothes and slipped them on over my costume. Maribel shucked off her coat and hat and carefully placed them in the gym bag. It was nearly four in the morning by the time we sneaked back into the house. My mask had bloodstains along the left side, and enough had dried on my face and hair that my dad would have a heart attack if he saw me. I took a quick shower, taking the risk that it might wake him. The stitches itched, but I was careful. And my hair was thick enough that you couldn't see them.  
  
I was dead tired, but it was just late enough that sleep felt pointless. Instead, Maribel insisted we celebrate, so we spent the next two hours on the sofa bed watching cartoons and eating the last of the cookies alongside a pint of ice cream I found in the fridge. I waited until she was curled up asleep, snuggling a pillow, before leaving for my morning run.


	6. Chapter Six (Interlude: Sophia)

 

  
**Chapter Six**  
(Interlude: Sophia)

"Black widows."  
  
"Black widows?" Emma shuddered. "That has to be bullshit. She'd need thousands to get enough silk."  
  
"If you saw what I saw, you'd believe it. She must of have millions of bugs under her control. She even threatened this Undersider girl, Tattletale. Said she'd cram her lungs full if she opened her mouth."  
  
"Nice. And the trump girl?"  
  
"Yeah. I didn't like her so much. Her costume was just a hat and scarf, like she got it from goodwill. But she had the attitude. Didn't give a fuck, just walked around with her hands in her pockets like she owned the place. I guess with her powers, she kind of does. But she must have got hurt in the fight because she was limping."  
  
They stopped under the shade of a tree on Winslow High's front lawn. If they moved any closer, nearby students might overhear.  
  
"It's weird they didn't have cape names," Emma said. "Especially if the Bug Girl put all that work into her costume."  
  
Sophia shrugged. "If they had any, they didn't tell us. Some capes just let the public make up something to call them. Carlos' got me manning a console tonight, so I'll be there when we brainstorm names for the press release."  
  
But Emma wasn't paying attention. Down on the sidewalk, Hebert and the Maribel girl walked together towards the school's front doors. Hebert was slowing her gait so the cripple could keep up, but she was standing tall now, sipping a cup of coffee with easy confidence. She was still a wimp, still prey, but there was a trace of backbone now. Maribel smiled and said something, and Hebert laughed.  
  
"Look who's made a new friend," Sophia said casually. She grinned at Emma, already knowing what her reaction would be.  
  
Emma's blue eyes watched Hebert with hungry malice, the rest of her face dangerously blank.  
  
"We need to do something about that," Emma said coldly.  
  
Sophia snickered. "Sounds fun."  


 

* * *

Sophia leaned against the wall and watched the show.  
  
"Ugliest girl in our grade."  
  
"What does she use to wash her face? A Brillo pad?"  
  
"She should! She'd look better!"  
  
"If I were her, I'd kill myself."  
  
Mr. Gladly left his classroom and stopped to look sadly at Hebert who was backed to the wall by the crowd of girls. But then he met Sophia's eyes, and he turned and walked away. Sophia smirked. He knew the score.  
  
"And she smells!"  
  
"Like expired grape and orange juice!"  
  
That last one was from Madison. She was a predator, but only barely. Sophia thought of her more as a parasite.  
  
"Have you seen that little cripple she hangs out with?"  
  
"She's even more pathetic than Taylor!"  
  
"That's impossible!"  
  
"They're probably lesbians!"  
  
"Eww!"  
  
The group parted for Emma as she stepped through. "What's the matter, Taylor? You look upset." She cocked her head sympathetically. "So upset you're going to cry yourself to sleep for a straight week?"  
  
The other girls fell silent as Hebert trembled. She looked lost and then, as if by magic, a single tear rolled down her cheek.  
  
"She is! She's crying!"  
  
"It's like you have a superpower, Emma!"  
  
Sophia laughed and shook her head. Emma just had that special touch. She'd have to ask her about that later.  
  
Hebert the crybaby wiped her eyes and reached down for her backpack. Sophia took this as her cue, hooking a foot through its strap and dragging it away. The girl was a coward, and Sophia fully expected her to give up and run away. But she did not. Instead, she lunged forward, shoving Sophia backwards.  
  
_What the fuck?_  
  
Surprised, Sophia only avoided falling on her ass by hitting sideways against the wall. The girls gasped; Madison said she was going to report her to the principal. Hebert's teary-eyed glare stayed fixed on Sophia as she knelt slowly for her backpack.  
  
Sophia clenched her fists. Heat rose to her face. "You think you can start something with me? You need to learn your place, you fucking queef!"  
  
Her sneaker caught Hebert along the top of the head. It wasn't much of a kick, just a scrape of rubber on scalp, but the girl fell sideways, hissing through her teeth as she clutched her hands to her thick black hair. Some of the girls began laughing, but that stalled a little when they saw the blood seeping between Hebert's fingers. Sophia stepped back. She must have hit harder than she thought.  
  
Hebert climbed to her feet and pushed her way free of the crowd, leaving her backpack behind. The girls watched as she fled outside through the door at the end of the hallway.  
  
"She's running to go cry to her girlfriend!" Julie said.  
  
Madison pointed. "No, the weird girl's over there!"  
  
Sophia turned to meet Maribel's venomous stare from halfway down the hall. The cripple was standing perfectly still amid the jumbled traffic of students, her hand and hook crammed in her ugly green coat. She'd been stalking them like this all day, just watching like a spooky ghost girl from a horror movie. It was beginning to piss Sophia off.  
  
She bared her teeth at Maribel. Behind her nerdy glasses, the girl narrowed her eyes, but Sophia wasn't fooled. She knew prey when she saw it. Maribel turned and limped away.  
  
Emma stepped beside Sophia and said simply, "Her fourth period class is Mr. Quinlan."  
  
Sophia nodded. That meant she'd have to pass the bathrooms on the third floor.  


 

* * *

Maribel hadn't been a cripple for very long. Sophia had caught her twice reaching for doorknobs with her hook before switching to her left hand, a mistake a lifelong amputee would never make. The girl had a heart-shaped, cutie-pie face that looked closer to twelve than sixteen, and Sophia could well imagine her before the accident: popular, in a tiny, innocent 'Madison' sort of way, with a circle of adoring friends and maybe a boyfriend who doted on her.  
  
And then she got hit by a car or whatever and everyone abandoned her because no one wants to hang around a gimpy girl with a stumpy arm. Maribel should have adapted to this, rose above it and become stronger. But Maribel wasn't a survivor. Instead, she let herself become a victim like Hebert. She deserved whatever she got.  
  
Sophia, Emma and Madison waited by the bathroom door as the students filed back and forth down the hallway. Sophia was ready to snatch Maribel as she passed, but it turns out she didn't need to. Maribel hobbled right up to them.  
  
"Stop bullying Taylor!" Maribel demanded, a defiant scowl on her little face. "She told me about the locker. And that you stole her mom's flute. Why are you so mean to her?"  
  
Madison broke into laughter. "Oh, my god! She sounds like she's  _nine!_ "  
  
"We're  _mean_  because Taylor's trash," Emma explained sweetly, "and she needs to learn that's where she belongs."  
  
"No she doesn't! Taylor's my friend! And I won't let you bully her anymore!"  
  
Emma met eyes with Sophia, who grinned in reply. This, they would enjoy.  
  
Sophia threw an arm around Maribel's neck and cupped a hand over her mouth. This muffled the cripple's screams as Sophia dragged her into the girl's bathroom. Madison slapped an 'Out of Order' sign on the door. Winslow's plumbing worked like a sieve. No one would question it.  
  
Maribel swung her little hook, but Emma caught the prosthetic at the wrist. They hauled her into one of the stalls, and Sophia was mildly disappointed the toilet had been flushed. Emma jerked Maribel's arm behind her back, making her shriek into Sophia's palm. There was barely enough room for the three of them, but they managed.  
  
"We're going to have a little talk with you," Emma explained. "You see, Taylor is a  _loser,_ and losers don't deserve friends. Even worthless little crippled friends like you. So, we're going to give you a taste of what being Taylor's friend gets you."  
  
Emma nodded at Sophia who grabbed the ropes of Maribel's short, thick dreadlocks. She yanked hard enough to make her cry out, and then shoved her head into the toilet.  
  
Maribel screamed bubbles into the water, her left arm waving around pathetically. Emma, her eyes alive with excitement, gave the hook-arm another twist. Sophia slipped her foot over Maribel's bad knee and pressed down just enough to raise the screams into an angry gargling sound. Outside the stall, Madison was almost curled into a ball with giggling. Sophia had to admit, it was pretty funny.  
  
When they pulled her face out, Maribel was gasping and blubbering. Her glasses had fallen into the bowl. Emma crouched down beside her in the cramped stall. Her lips spoke an inch from Maribel's bloodshot eyes.  
  
"So, are you going to hang out with Taylor anymore?"  
  
Maribel retched, but nothing came out. After a few choking breaths, she gasped, "I'm . . . I'm going to tell the principal! You're . . . you're going to get in trouble!"  
  
Sophia laughed. "Like we got in trouble with the locker? Oh, no. I'm  _so_  scared."  
  
Emma shook her head sadly, and then bent the arm a little tighter. "Like I already told you, Maribel, the principal doesn't listen to losers. And if you  _do_ say anything, my dad's a lawyer. He'll sue you so hard, you and your family will spent the rest of their lives living in a box on the street. Do you hate your family, Maribel? Do you want to see them suffer?"  
  
When Maribel only whimpered in reply, Emma winked at Sophia. "I think she needs another demonstration."  
  
After a couple more dunks, Maribel eventually saw the error of her ways and agreed never to speak to Taylor again. Emma patted Maribel on her wet cheek.  
  
"Good girl. I'm glad we had this little chat. But if we have to have this chat  _again . . ._ let's just say there'll be more than just water on your face. Do you understand?"  
  
Maribel sniffled and nodded.  
  
To drive the point home, they made her retrieve her glasses with her teeth. They were going to soak her textbooks in the sink, but they'd already been ruined by the juice from Friday. Maybe next time.  
  
When they left Maribel lying on the bathroom floor, cradling her arm and crying softly to herself, Sophia and Emma shared a secret smile. She knew Emma pulled these little stunts partly to impress her, but she didn't mind. It was moments like these that made her out of costume life tolerable, that let her blow off steam. She decided Maribel was a welcome distraction to her life at Winslow High. Breaking her was going to be fun.  


 

* * *

  
"She  _looked_  like a 'Skitter,'" Clockblocker said.  
  
Aegis shook his head. "Sounds too much like a villain name."  
  
"So you're admitting it fits?"  
  
"I still think 'Swarm' doesn't sound  _that_ bad," Browbeat said. He looked around at the others as if for support. He was the new guy and was finding his niche. "I can see a hero having that name."  
  
"What about the trump?" asked Gallant. "We don't want a name that makes her power obvious, but it should at least be fitting. Something that sounds good for the press release."  
  
"If her power is what we think it is, it should mean 'bad luck' for any villain capes," said Clockblocker. "Lung seemed pretty pissed. The Undersiders weren't too happy either."  
  
Shadow Stalker grunted at that. It was too bad the two heroes had stuck around. She could have finally gotten rid of Grue. Of course, she'd then have to kill the others too, since they'd be witnesses.  
  
She sat away from the rest of the Wards and so far had used that as an excuse to stay out of their discussion. If Aegis was going waste her evening making her stare at console surveillance feeds, she was going to do just that. Or pretend to, anyway. She kept her smartphone in her lap, out of sight. It vibrated with a call. It was from Emma. She silenced it before the others heard.  
  
Sitting cross-legged on her chair, Vista rocked back and forth as she frowned thoughtfully. "How about, 'Jinx'?" She then shook her head. "Nah, that's probably taken."  
  
Kid Win poked at his tablet. "There were three 'Jinxes,' though two are dead and the third changed her name."  
  
"All right, let's go with Jinx then," Aegis said. "If she wanted a better one, she should have told us. Now, the bug girl . . . ? Anyone? I'd like to get this over with. We have patrols to get to."  
  
"Come on! Join the fun, Shadow Stalker," Clockblocker said with mock cheerfulness. "You were first to meet them, and you gave such a good first impression of the Wards that if Gallant had been there, I'm sure he'd get a brain freeze from all their love for us. Surely you can toss a name in the hat."  
  
Shadow Stalker didn't look up. "Something spider related. She said her costume was made of black widow silk."  
  
"Wow," said Kid Win. "I might call that a low-level tinker power. And I bet that stuff's strong too. She could make a lot of money if she put it on the market."  
  
"How about 'Lady Web'?" Vista proposed.  
  
Shadow Stalker snorted. "It sucks." Her phone flashed with a text. Emma again.  
  
**Emma: answer your phone. emergency.  
  
Emma: that bitch marybell fucked us.  
  
Emma: we re fucked  
**  
Shadow Stalker left the console station and retreated behind a partition wall.  
**  
Sophia: what the fuck u talking about?**  
  
Emma texted her a Youtube link.  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
_"Hello, my name is Maribel Hutchinson. I am fifteen years old and go to Winslow High in Brockton Bay. My friend Taylor has been bullied for a year and a half. The bullies do mean things to her every day. They once locked her in a locker full of rotting tampons and left her in there for hours. She got sick and had to go to the hospital for a week. The teachers and principal won't do anything, and I don't know why. I'm making this video so I'll have proof, and then I'm going to tell the bullies to stop . . ."_


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven  
**

My dad leaned forward, his elbows on the conference table. He wasn't as angry as before, but his voice still held a harsh edge. "And when is this going to happen?"  
  
"We can arrange transfers by Monday," said Ms. Acosta, the 'Acting Principal' of Winslow High. She was a plump, dark-skinned woman with a jovial face who seemed in every way the opposite of Principal Blackwell.  
  
"In the meantime," she continued, "you two will continue to attend class here. That is, unless either of you feel this would be an unsafe environment. Ms. Clements shouldn't be able to cause any problems while serving her in-school suspension, but I understand there are other students involved in the bullying?"  
  
"I think I can manage one more week," I said more rudely than I intended.  
  
"And how about you, Maribel?" Ms. Acosta asked.  
  
"I just don't want anyone to hurt me or my friend," said Maribel sadly. I'd been avoiding looking at her the whole meeting, but I could easily imagine her innocent little face looking down, the picture made complete with her bad arm in a sling. We hadn't really spoken since last night after she emailed me the link to her video. What I'd said to her over the phone hadn't been nice, and she'd been crying when I hung up.  
  
Of course, I hadn't known then that she'd been hospitalized. As she'd later explained in a update on her Youtube page, her shoulder had been shattered during Hurricane Leslie and put back together with pins and screws. The arm lacked full range of motion; Emma and Sophia's abuse had exceeded that range.  
  
I now felt bad for yelling at her. I was still pissed, though.  
  
"We won't let that happen, I assure you," Ms. Acosta said.  
  
"I've heard that before," my dad said bitterly.  
  
"Winslow is under new leadership, Mr. Hebert," the acting principal replied. "We're not going to be as complacent as we once were."  
  
"I'm still tempted to turn down your offer," said Maribel's grandmother, a tall, thin hard-looking woman of about sixty with short brown hair that was halfway to gray. Her blue jeans and checkered flannel shirt gave her a sort of lanky lumberjack appearance. "If this goes to trial, I have no doubt we'll take you to the cleaners."  
  
"But 'nana, I want to go to Arcadia with Taylor!"  
  
Mr. Brice, the lawyer who'd agreed to represent us  _pro bono,_ made a calming gesture with his hands. "We  _could_ win against the school, but it could also take years. Their offer of transfers and to cover medical expenses solves the immediate concerns. As for compensation for pain and suffering, the assailants are much easier targets. I think it's likely even Mr. Barnes will be willing to settle out of court."  
  
"Well, all right, then," Maribel's grandmother said with a sigh.  
  
After my dad and Maribel's grandmother signed the papers, the meeting wrapped up quickly. I handed over photocopied pages from my notebook to Mr. Brice, who assured me that combined with the trio's recorded gloating, would let us press charges that would stick.  
  
For over a year I'd had a mental picture of what justice for the bullying would look like, and it involved me presenting my evidence to Principal Blackwell, who then has no choice but to punish my tormentors, preferably with in-school suspension. Me pursuing legal action seemed like a pipe dream. I never really believed any of this would happen--especially after the locker--but if it did, it's how I would have expected it to unfold.  
  
But Maribel's clever trap had escalated my neat little scenario beyond recognition. Blackwell now was on administrative leave pending an investigation, and none of the trio or their parents were present. Emma and Sophia had not only been expelled, but arrested on assault charges, and though no doubt at least Emma had been released on bail, Mr. Brice said they'd be lucky to avoid juvie.  
  
The year and a half long ordeal was over, and I had Maribel to thank. I just wished she hadn't been so stupid about it.  
  
While my dad and Maribel's grandmother chatted with Mr. Brice in the hallway, I motioned for Maribel to follow, and she limped after me with her eyes downcast as though she were a scolded puppy. Her green army coat hung like a cloak over her injured arm.  
  
When we were far enough away for privacy, I sighed.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly.  
  
"Maribel, do you even know why I'm angry?"  
  
"Because I embarrassed you?"  
  
"That's . . . part of it. I don't appreciate everyone on the internet seeing me get bullied and kicked in the head, or knowing that I got shoved into a locker. I  _really_ don't like that my full name's been leaked. But it's more than that. I'm angry because you did this  _behind my back._ "  
  
"But you would have said  _no!_ "  
  
Her grandmother and my dad glanced in our direction. I felt my swarm stir. I took a deep breath, leaned forward and lowered my voice to a hiss.   
  
"Fuck, yes, I would have said  _no_. There was no need to put it online. We could have still pressed charges, and we could have used it as leverage."  
  
Behind her glasses, Maribel's dark eyes squinted into a glare. "Bullshit! The PRT would have just sent goons to cover everything up. They'd use tinker tech to find and erase the video, or they'd just arrest us and beat us until we gave it up. This way, the truth's already out there. The  _world_ knows Sophia Hess is a psycho-bitch. And if she ever gets outed, the PRT will look like the corrupt assholes they are. She's a liability now, so you just know they're waiting for the bus to come along so they can--" She mimed shoving someone down and made a  _splat!_ sound, followed by an engine roaring away.  
  
I wasn't sure what to say to that. The PRT stooping to torture to cover up a Ward's bullying seemed ridiculous. But on the other hand,  _someone_  had been covering up for Sophia, so I couldn't rule it out. Still, part of me suspected Maribel's reasoning was only a justification for an impulsive act of revenge after the trio's attack. From what I'd seen them do to her in the video, I couldn't say I blamed her.  
  
I was still pissed, though. A little.  
  
Maribel's expression softened. Her small brown hand took my own. "Taylor, after my accident, my friends tried to cheer me up in the hospital. They told me they were sorry about my mom and to 'hang in there' and that 'it'll be all right' and that they were looking forward to me coming back to school, but I could tell they didn't want to be there. I made them uncomfortable. I wasn't fun to be around anymore. So, soon they stopped showing up, and one day I sat in my hospital bed and realized I was all alone. I tried to kill myself after that.  
  
"But what my friends did to me was nothing compared to what those bitches did to you. They were  _vicious_. They were destroying you, grinding you down so low you thought they'd always win. So I proved you wrong because that's what friends are for. I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I was going to do, but if I could go back, I'd do it all over again."  
  
She pulled me into an awkward, one-armed hug, her head of thick dreadlocks not even reaching up to my chin. However differently I wished she'd done it, she'd gone through a lot of pain and humiliation on my behalf, which wasn't something to take lightly. Slowly, I wrapped my arms around her, careful to avoid putting pressure on her sling. Down the hall, her grandmother and my dad grinned. I looked at them and shrugged.  
  
"Just don't do things behind my back, okay?" I told Maribel.  
  
"All right. Next time I'll keep you in the loop."  
  
Between police questioning, talking with our lawyer and negotiations with Ms. Acosta, there wasn't much left of the school day, so we decided to leave. Maribel invited me to come over to her house, though first her grandmother had some shopping to take care of. On the way to the parking lot, my dad touched me on the shoulder and took me aside. Maribel and her grandmother waited a polite distance away.  
  
"How are you holding up, kiddo?" he whispered.  
  
"I'm just glad it's over," I said quickly.  
  
"I wish you'd told me earlier. About Emma. Maybe I could have done something."  
  
"It's fine. I've . . . moved on. She's nothing to me now."  
  
"If you want to talk--"  
  
"It's  _fine._ "  
  
My dad nodded sadly. He obviously felt like he'd failed me, but the truth is I don't think I ever wanted him to know. Seeing the hurt in his eyes as he watched the shaky footage of the bathroom floor and toilet while Emma's cruel, hateful words blared through the speakers was half the reason I was mad at Maribel. It seemed silly now, but I'd wanted to keep my home life separate from my life at Winslow. Maribel had mashed those two worlds together.  
  
I liked the outcome, but it could have been handled better.  
  
Maribel's grandmother's car was a decade old sedan that smelled like stale tobacco. The air conditioning didn't work, so fortunately she drove with the windows down.  
  
Using her thumb, Maribel poked around on her smartphone. She laughed. "Someone posted Emma's number and address on 4chan. Want to go egg her house? She'll never know it's us."  
  
"Yeah, let's not," said her grandmother from the front seat, a long cigarette dangling between her lips.  
  
"Nana's no fun," Maribel explained to me. "That's because she used to be a cop."  
  
"Yep, thirty years in the No-Fun PD," her grandmother said.  
  
Maribel pouted. "Well, I'm sure  _someone's_ going to do it. I hope someone throws a Molotov cocktail through her window. Sophia's too."  
  
I sighed. She didn't sound like she was joking. Hell, I could picture her tossing the bottle.  
  
"I don't want their house burned down," I said. "I don't want them in the hospital. I don't want them dead. Thanks to you, they're going to pay for what they did, and I'm happy with that. And even if they dodge juvie, everyone's going to know what kind of people they are, and that's going to follow them for the rest of their lives." I paused to consider that. Emma's modelling career was over, and she might have trouble getting into a good university. If nothing else, at least Sophia would be kicked out of the Wards.  
  
I shook my head. "Thank you for sticking up for me, Maribel. I appreciate it. But I'm done with them."  
  
"Hear, hear," her grandmother said. "Shits like them don't deserve our attention."  
  
We had already parked and were walking to the Weymouth shopping center when Maribel's phone rang. She answered, and I watched as her eyes widened and her mouth hung open.  
  
"Yes, Saturday would be great! Oh, I will! I will! I promise!" She giggled so hard she shook. "Thank you thank you thank you! I'll see you then! Bye!"  
  
Her grandmother crushed a cigarette under her sneaker and tried to hide her smirk. "Panacea?"  
  
Laughing wildly, Maribel hopped around on one foot.  
  
"I'm going to have two hands again! I'm going to be able to run and jump and juggle! I'm going to be able to break dance! And play the sax again!"  
  
Maribel hugged her grandmother and then me, wincing a little when her bad arm pressed against mine. Her excitement was contagious, and I found myself smiling. We were going to meet with New Wave anyway, but hearing from Panacea herself must have made things seem all the more real for her.  
  
"How did you know?" I asked her grandmother.  
  
"The lawyer guy said that he'd heard that she might pay us a visit. I guess she saw the video and felt sorry for her." The grandmother shrugged. "Even if she didn't call, she would have seen her sooner or later at Arcadia."  
  
When we were inside the mall, Maribel took me aside. With a sly grin she asked, "Think the PRT pulled some strings?"  
  
"Maybe. Maybe Panacea is just being nice."  
  
"Either way is fine by me. I'm sick of being crippled. Being crippled sucks."  
  
"And at least this way we don't risk our identities," I said and gave Maribel a shrewd look. "If we met with Panacea in costume, she'd have to be pretty oblivious not to know who you were, what with your video loose on the Web. And if she figured you out, she'd know me too."  
  
"It's not like she would have told anyone," Maribel muttered.  
  
"Doesn't matter. The less people who know, the better."  
  
Since regrowing her hand would consume a lot of fat reserves, Panacea had instructed Maribel to eat as much as she could between now and Saturday. So Maribel's grandmother gave us twenty dollars, told us to pig out while she did her shopping and then walked away into an antique store. She seemed a nice enough woman, though a little distant. Because she was white, I assumed Maribel's mother had been her daughter, and I wondered how that death had affected her. Did hers and Maribel's relationship mirror me and my dad's? Part of me wanted to ask about her, but I didn't want to tear open still-healing wounds.  
  
At the food court, Maribel filled her tray with donuts, cookies, two slices of apple pie and a large iced coffee that was mostly whipped cream and chocolate syrup. I bought a cup of tea and a turkey sandwich, even though I wasn't particularly hungry. With her hook arm in a sling, I had to open her medicine bottles for her. One of them contained painkillers; the other had small yellow pills of something called Paxil. I recognized what those were for, and didn't say anything.  
  
We chose a table away from anyone who could overhear us. It was at the edge of a second story balcony overlooking the wide concourse below, and as we ate we watched the sparse early afternoon shoppers stroll in and out of the mall's businesses and department stores. Maribel was slurping the dregs of her drink when she perked up, stood and peered over the metal railing.  
  
"What is it?" I asked.  
  
She sat back down and nodded below and behind her. She kept her voice just above a whisper. "Stormtiger and a girl I don't know. She has fast reflexes and sonar or something."  
  
I leaned to the side, and even though there was about a dozen shoppers in sight, I knew immediately which ones she meant. They were about fifty yards away, leaving a yogurt shop of all things. The man was tall, blond and wore a sleeveless white t-shirt which showed off his muscular arms. The woman was much shorter and had a wiry gymnast build beneath her tight turtleneck sweater. Her bleached blond buzzcut practically screamed 'Empire Eighty-Eight.'  
  
Both of them were eating ice cream cones, which I found so amusing I couldn't help but smile.  
  
Maribel stuck a cookie in her mouth and spoke as she chewed. "Want to sic bees on them?"  
  
"What, in the middle of the mall?"  
  
"We can wait until they're outside."  
  
"I don't think we're supposed to do that. Not when they're out of costume."  
  
Maribel groaned. "The unwritten rules are so stupid. They're Nazis. They should be covered in spiders."  
  
"Maribel, if they were doing something, I'd be all over them. But I'm not going to start a cape fight when there's civilians around."  
  
She wasn't happy with that, but when the two supervillains disappeared under the balcony into another store, her frown turned into a mischievous grin.  
  
"I'm amping Stormtiger," she said. "A lot."  
  
I blinked. "What? Are you insane?"  
  
She dismissed my concerns with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry. He'll just think he's getting a brain freeze or something. And . . . now I've dialed him back down. It's just funny to fuck with him. But it's a shame we're letting him slip away, because now that we've taken down the ABB's capes, you just know the Empire's going to want to expand. What's that Nazi word for 'living space?' Luxembourg?"  
  
"Lebensraum."  
  
"Right. They're going to Lebensraum all over the ABB's turf. And I don't know about you, but I don't want the Empire getting bigger than it already is."  
  
"All right, we'll focus on them next, but we should at least wait until Panacea fixes you."  
  
"Okay," she said. "All that walking around sucked anyway."  
  
She passed me a plate of cookies, and we talked for a while about future tactics. We'd won the fight with Lung and Oni Lee, but the stitches on my scalp reminded me it could have gone better. We should have engaged them from farther down the street, outside Maribel's range but inside mine, and I could have used my swarm to chase off the gang members while luring Lung our direction. Then, keeping completely out of sight, Maribel could have shut him down, and I could have sent in the bugs and taken him out. Same thing with Oni Lee. We could have beaten them without either of them laying eyes on us.  
  
We were discussing the admittedly absurd idea of bug-mounted micro-cameras when Maribel suddenly stood and limped across the food court to the massive picture window overlooking the parking lot. Wordlessly, I followed to stand by her side.  
  
She pointed. "See that blue pickup? It's pulling out onto that overpass. Stormtiger's there."  
  
I squinted. I was already losing the vehicle in the distant traffic. "That's a lot farther away than a hundred yards," I said.  
  
Maribel shrugged. "I can't touch his powers, but I can still sense him. I know he's 'there'"--she pressed a finger against the glass--"the same way I know which way is 'up.' I could drop him if I wanted to. But . . . I don't want to."  
  
I sipped my tea. "So you can track parahumans at long distances?"  
  
"I guess so. If I really want to."  
  
"That's useful," I said.  
  
Her reflected image in the window grinned. "You want to follow him home, bag ourselves some Nazis? We can even follow the 'rules' and wait until he's in costume."  
  
I had to admit. Taking down another supervillain sounded good. "We'll talk about it tonight," I said.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight  


Maribel lived just south of the Trainyard. It wasn't a good neighborhood. Her grandmother's house was smaller than my own, and with its unkempt lawn and chipped wood siding, you could be forgiven for thinking it was abandoned.  
  
Inside, I was greeted by the same stale tobacco smell that I'd endured in the car, mingled now with a faint musty odor. A sickly yellow taint clung to the walls. The orange shag carpeting might have been older than my dad.  
  
Her grandmother handed us cold soda cans and promised us hot dogs and beans for dinner. Maribel led the way down the hall which was crowded with boxes and stacks of books and magazines. At first, I thought these were unpacked leftovers from when Maribel moved to Brockton Bay, but there was too much dust and too many cobwebs. And I seriously doubted she brought with her old issues of  _Outdoor Life_  or  _National Geographic._  
  
I reached out and felt the nearby bugs. There were a lot of them. The house had a serious termite problem.  
  
Maribel's room was dimly lit and cramped. I had to walk over clothes piled so high her bed was nearly redundant. Over the walls hung numerous overlapping posters. I spotted one of Che Guevera, another of Malcolm X and one with the grinning white mask of the British supervillain Vendetta Queen. The rest were either of musicians I didn't recognize or Earth Aleph anime characters.  
  
Maribel motioned for me to close the door, and when I did she eased slowly onto a vinyl beanbag chair in the corner beside a set of particleboard shelves holding a nice flatscreen TV, a laptop and a gaming console. She poked at her phone and snorted.  
  
"The Wards came out with their press release. They're calling us 'Weaver and Jinx.' Those are stupid names."  
  
I opened my drink and sat on the corner of her bed. A spring in the lopsided mattress popped under my weight.  
  
"'Weaver'? I guess that's because I 'weave' stuff with my spiders? But I only told that to . . . oh." Great. Was I stuck with a name that  _Sophia_ had given me?  
  
"'Jinx' sounds like a little cartoon character," Maribel said. "I want scary, not cute. I should have come up with my own name. Something like . . . like . . . Queen Nope? Because I 'nope' powers?"  
  
"'Queen Nope?' Really?" I chuckled. "But I don't think 'Weaver and Jinx' is too bad. They go well together. It sounds like a team."  
  
"It sounds too much like 'Uber and Leet,'" Maribel said with distaste. "But it doesn't matter. We're so badass, villains are going to fear our names no matter what they are."  
  
Which made me think of what we might be doing tonight. On the way over, her grandmother had stopped by my house for me to pick up a few things. My costume was in my backpack.  
  
"You still have tabs on Stormtiger?"  
  
Maribel pointed south. "That way. He's driving right now. Not sure how far, but if this is the range where I can shut him down"--she held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart--"then he's like on the other side of the house right now. So, a few miles away? Downtown maybe?"  
  
"We don't have to go after him tonight. We could wait until after Panacea sees you," I said. "But right now, I was thinking we could talk about your powers. Maybe figure out if there's anything else you can do. The more we know, the better."  
  
Maribel's expression was a mix of disappointment and relief. Earlier, she seemed eager to go Nazi hunting, but clearly she wasn't looking forward to limping across the city. She frowned thoughtfully.  
  
"Okay, I have an idea," she said.  
  
I sipped my Coke. "Go on."  
  
"Tagging Stormtiger, it's like I have a hand holding him. He's too far away to squeeze, but if he moves, my hand moves. That's how I track him. But I feel like I can do more, and since it'd be stupid to test it with a Nazi supervillain . . . I'm going to do it to you instead. Ready? I'm going to amp you. Real quick. Up and down."  
  
"What are--?" I began, but then came the familiar rush as my range expanded. It only lasted for a moment before she dialed me back to normal.  
  
"There. I've tagged you too. And now . . ." She stared at me for a moment, her dark eyes squinting behind her glasses. "You feel it?"  
  
I did. It was as if there was an unseen compass inside my brain, and that compass was pointing at Maribel. Slowly, I stood and walked around the room. I closed my eyes and turned in a circle. The sensation wasn't intrusive, but I easily knew which direction I'd find Maribel.  
  
"Wow," I said.  
  
"Two way tracking," Maribel said. "It's like our powers are shaking hands. I'll keep this connection. This way, I'll always know where you are, and you'll always know where I am. Isn't that cool?"  
  
"It's very cool," I agreed. It also could be very useful, in the right situation.  
  
When dinner was ready, I sat on the clothes pile beside her. Maribel covered her hot dogs in beans and mustard and managed to smear what seemed like half of it around her mouth. Between bites, she showed off her gaming console.  
  
It'd only come out a couple of months ago, and I remember Greg once claiming that some of its components were derived from tinker-technology. I wasn't sure if that was true, but I knew the console was expensive. And Maribel's strangely shaped, one-handed controller didn't look cheap either. I wondered how she was able to afford these things, but it'd be rude to ask.  
  
While we played a zombie survival game, I had the termites eat their eggs and then kill each other.  
  
Later that night, when we were watching cartoons, Maribel began to fidget. Finally she grinned.  
  
"He's close," she said.  
  
"Stormtiger?"  
  
She nodded. "Maybe a half mile. That way. Want to go get him?"  
  
I looked at the clock. It wasn't quite midnight. "What about your grandmother?"  
  
Maribel mimed drinking from a bottle, and then falling asleep.  
  
Somehow I had a feeling this was a bad idea, but I said, "All right, then. Let's get dressed. And now that we have cape names, let's use them. Got it, Jinx?"  
  
"Okay, Weaver!"  
  
I wore my sweatshirt and jeans over my costume, and together we sneaked down the hall into the living room. Sure enough, her grandmother was snoring in a reclining armchair in front of the TV, a bottle of wine on the table beside her.  
  
We slipped outside and walked to the end of the street before hiding behind a fence where we finished changing. I crammed my clothes in my backpack, plugged in my radio earbud and put on my mask. Since Jinx's arm was in a sling, she buttoned her rain slicker over it and stuffed the empty sleeve in her pocket. It looked obvious, but hopefully no one would notice. Maybe half of the streetlamps worked, and the night sky was more overcast than not. We moved along the sidewalk through weak, foggy moonlight.  
  
When we stopped beneath a tree, Jinx leaned against the bark and watched me from under the brim of her hat, her horn rim glasses glistening above a green scarf.  
  
"He hasn't moved in a while," she said in a whisper.  
  
"If he's at home, we turn back," I said.  
  
"Oh, come on! Can't you at least have your spiders chew his dick while he sleeps? He'll wake up going,  _'Ahhh! My dick!'_  And if you use brown recluses, it'd be even funnier!"  
  
I stared at her. Was she joking? I couldn't tell anymore. "Jinx, if we're going to attack him, it'll be when he's committing a crime. We're not going to castrate him for laughs."  
  
"But he's a Nazi!"  
  
"Jinx . . ."  
  
Jinx gave an exaggerated sigh: I was no fun.  
  
"You want me to amp you?" she asked sullenly. "We're close now."  
  
"All right."  
  
During those few seconds, I reached out to hundreds of millions of bugs and told them to converge on a point a quarter of a mile south of us. We continued on carefully, keeping to the shadows. The neighborhood grew gradually higher class, though most of the houses still had junk in their front yards, taped up windows or other things wrong that gave the city its rundown reputation.  
  
Jinx paused along the wall of a duplex. She limped forward behind a bush and peeked around the corner.  
  
"He's in a house down at the end."  
  
"Probably because that's his house," I said. I had to admit, I was a little disappointed. But then what was I expecting? It was nighttime, and even supervillains had to sleep.  
  
"No, wait," Jinx said. "Look at all the cars."  
  
I leaned through the leaves behind her and peered over her head. Through my binoculars, about a hundred yards away, I saw about a dozen vehicles in front of a large, weathered Victorian-style house. Some were parked on the lawn. Lights shone in the windows. Through my bugs inside I could sense a number of people as well as . . . four legged animals. And I was picking up a  _lot_  of fleas and ticks. And blood. And loud sounds.  
  
"Let's move closer," I said.  
  
I led the way, crouching low as we crossed two front yards. We stopped in the bushes beside the wood-shingled side of another duplex. Across the street and three homes down stood the Victorian house. My bugs checked the surrounding homes. Most of the occupants were in bed, and none were outside. I squatted and watched around the corner with my binoculars.  
  
"Hookwolf and that blond girl are there too," Jinx said behind me. I could sense her through the compass in my brain. Her excitement was clear in her voice. "Want me to shut them all down?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
I drew my swarm in, slowly. A dark insect cloud loomed over the street. Bugs rolled across the grass and pavement like a carpet of shadows. I was pretty sure the noise inside was barking, though it was odd that I couldn't hear it with my own ears. Were the walls soundproof? I could guess what the place was.  
  
"It's a dogfighting ring," I said with disgust.  
  
"Fucking Nazis," said Jinx. "We have to do something."  
  
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the PRT. I kept the call brief and to the point and hung up. I considered the tactics we discussed earlier, but with the bad guys concentrated in an enclosed space, that sort of complexity didn't seem necessary. They were practically trapped. This would be easy. I hoped.  
  
"Shut them down," I said.  
  
"Shutting down now," said Jinx happily.  
  
My swarm enveloped the house in a thick, black mist. Millions of bugs worked their way inside and within seconds I could sense the positions and movements of everyone and everything within the house's walls. Most of the people were thrashing, running and screaming. A few raced out the front door, but the swarm was so thick I was able to literally knock them off their feet. Another man crashed through a window and rolled sobbing. Winged insects funneled through the new openings.  
  
"I wonder if my brother's in there," Maribel mused. "I hope he is."  
  
I focused my swarm on biting over stinging, and even when they stung I held back on most of the venom. I had no idea which people inside were the capes, though a large, muscular man with long hair was huddling in a bathtub. That could have been Hookwolf, from the pictures I'd seen. Water splashed across his body, though it did little more than inconvenience the thousands of bugs nibbling on his skin. He was shouting into something in his hand. He wasn't the only one. I sent gnats and ants to wiggle into all the gang-members' phones, but I doubted they were small enough to reach the electronics. Hopefully the PRT would show up before Empire Eighty-Eight's reinforcements.  
  
In the house next door to us, a few yards away on the other side of a chain-link fence, my bugs detected footsteps, and I turned in time to see a curtain shift in a picture window. A handful of flies in the bedroom told me it was someone in a bathrobe. Our costumes were dark, and we were in bushes. So whoever it was probably couldn't see us and wouldn't want to get involved even if we were visible. But just in case, I landed several thousand stinging insects on the grass around us.  
  
Inside the Victorian house, a few of the dogs had somehow escaped their cages and were mauling the patrons. I told Jinx and she broke into giggles.  
  
"Nazis versus bees and dogs! I wish some of your bugs had little cameras. Then we could make Youtube videos!"  
  
"I figured you'd like that. I'm using my swarm to keep them back. Otherwise we might have a few dead bodies on our hands."  
  
"Who cares about them! Just don't hurt the doggies!"  
  
I wasn't. Or at least I was trying really hard not to. Fortunately, the dogs were just as scared of the bugs as the humans were. I corralled the dogs into an empty room. From what I could tell, half were barking at the swarm clouds while the other half were whimpering and scratching at the walls.  
  
After last time, Jinx and I agreed we'd leave before the PRT showed up, but with three supervillains pinned down by my bugs and only kept from breaking out by Jinx's trump powers, I didn't see a way we could withdraw safely. We would have to wait until the PRT had them secured, and it'd be a lot less awkward if we weren't hiding in bushes, waiting for them to leave.  
  
I groaned inwardly. I wasn't looking forward to dealing with another one of their recruitment pitches.  
  
Lights shone from down the street, far past the house. Revving engines echoed in the night.  
  
"The PRT?" Jinx asked.  
  
My swarm told me that the three vehicles were about two hundred yards away and closing in fast. I peeked around the corner. One of the vehicles--a big-wheel truck--had a spotlight mounted on its roof. The bright beam swiveled around, illuminating the houses on either side of the street before suddenly turning and shining directly into my eyes.  
  
I pulled back. "No," I said.  
  
Machine gun fire broke out. Bite-sized chunks of wood-siding exploded from the duplex's corner. Bullets spat into the grass.  
  
"Run!" I shouted, but of course Jinx couldn't run. I grabbed her by her raincoat and dragged her through the bushes along the wall, away from the corner and towards the backyard gate. Already, thousands of insects were sacrificing themselves against the vehicles' windshields. The vehicles swerved. Two people with guns stood in the bed of the truck, and my bugs attacked them  _en-masse._ Their ski-masks did nothing to protect their eyes. Panicking, one of them tumbled out and rolled like a rag doll in the street.  
  
How did the reinforcements find us so fast? As if to answer the question, I saw an old woman squatting in the window of the house on the other side of the chain-link fence. She was lit by the approaching, bobbing headlights. She was aiming a shotgun.  
  
I fell backwards against the duplex's wall as the bark of the blast rang through the air. I felt as if my chest had caved in. My right arm was numb, my shoulder in agony. I couldn't breath. Blood pounded in my ears. I slumped into the bushes, my ribs screaming. A small part of me thought,  _I guess my costume isn't bulletproof after all._  Or at least it didn't feel that way. I wasn't sure how bad it was.  
  
Through my bugs, I saw one of Empire Eighty-Eight's vehicles crash through the brick and iron gate of the duplex's front entryway. The wall behind me shuddered at the impact.  
  
Jinx was kneeling by my side. There was a small silver pistol in her hand. She screamed something that sounded a lot like, "Die, Nazi fuckers!" and fired shots at the window. I wasn't sure how long I had left, so I helped by sending my stinging insect swarm through the bullet holes in the glass.  
  
Sirens wailed in the distance.

* * *

To be continued . . .  
  
_AN: AN: I would like to thank Racheakt for his creative input. I was going to work on another original work (a space opera) but I already have six writing projects on my plate, so I'll put it off for now. So, next I'm working on "Faraday" 1.4 and after that, probably "Tales of a Power Armor Apocalypse" Chapter Nine._


End file.
